THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 


Lirs.  7'illiam  We  intra  ub 


IN    PLAY    LAND 


IN    PLAY    LAND 


COMPILED  BY 

FRANCES  WELD   DANIELSON 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
JANE  DUDLEY  F.  LILEY  YOUNG 

MABEL  B.  HILL  CLARA  E.  ATWOOD 


THE    PILGRIM    PRESS 

BOSTON     NEW  YORK    CUICAGO 


Copyright,  1911 
Bt  Luther  H.  Cabt 


Published  August,  1911 


LOAN  STACK 
GIFT 


THE-  PLIMPTON*  PRESS 

[  W •  D • O] 
NORWOOD  •  MASS  •  U  •  S  •  A 


WORK 

Work,  when  done  by  willing  fingers. 
Makes  the  dullest  hours  slip  by. 

Not  a  listless  moment  lingers. 
There's  no  time  to  fret  or  cry. 

Work  and  sing  and  then  for  playtime  - 
That's  the  way  to  spend  the  daytime  I 

When  our  work  is  finished  duly. 
Then  we'll  laugh  and  skip  and  run, 

Happy  just  because  we  truly 
Know  we've  earned  our  right  to  fun. 

Work  and  sing  and  then  for  playtime  - 
That's  the  way  to  spend  the  daytime  I 


Qr;HS 


CONTENTS 


OUTDOORS  ON  PLEASANT  DAYS 


Mat-Time 

Making  Believe  .... 

Horseback       

Haying-Time 

Toys  and  Seasons     . 

A  Puzzling  Thing     .      .      . 

Winifred's  Long  Journey  . 

A  Voyage  

Work  and  Play  .... 
One  Mile  to  Toyland  .  . 
Charlotte  the  Conqueror 

Velocipede 

A  Little  Girl's  Journey  . 
Apple-Tree  Inn   .... 

May  Day 

Pretending 

Her  Answer 

A  Troublesome  Daughter. 

The  Race  

A  Sleepy-Head  Top  .      .     . 


Hannah  G.  Fernald     . 
Frances  J.  Delano 
Anne  Schiitze    . 
Anna  Burnham  Bryant 
Hannah  G.  Fernald    . 
Nancy  Byrd  Turner    . 
Frances  Margaret  Fox 
Hannah  G.  Fernald    . 
Alice  Van  Leer  Carrick 
Nancy  Byrd  Turner    . 
Hannah  G.  Fernald    . 
Annie  Willis  McCullough 
Frances  J.  Delano 
Nancy  Byrd  Turner    . 
Alice  Van  Leer  Carrick 
Hannah  G.  Fernald     . 

Sidney  Dayre  . 
Hannah  G.  Fernald    . 

Alice  Turner  Curtis    . 

Sinclair  Lewis 


page 

3 

4 

6 

7 

8 

10 

11 

16 

18 

19 

21 

23 

24 

26 

28 

30 

31 

32 

34r 

35 


IN  THE  HOUSE  ON  STORMY  DAYS 


A  Rainy  Day  PijAN  . 

Post-Office     .... 
PicTURE-BooK  Time  . 
The  Topsy-Turvy  Doll 


Nancy  Byrd  Turner    ...  39 

Emma  C.  Dowd     ....  41 

Hannah  G.  Fernald     ...  44 

Rebecca  Deming  Moore    .      .  46 
vii 


VIU 


CONTENTS 


The  Milkweed   Pod  that 
Helped 

The  Quiet  Child 

My  Horse 

Two  Pockets 

Mt  Dolly 

Aunt  Ruth's  New  Spelling 
Game 

The  Little  Book  People   . 

After  School 

A  Game  for  the  Fireside 

The  Wooden  Horse 

A  Rainy  Saturday    . 

The  Birthday  Ones. 

Acting  Rhymes     .... 

The  Trials  of  Travel  . 

Books    

Dolls 

Lentil  Arithmetic    . 

A  Warning 

The  Quarrel  

My  Playmates     .... 

The   People  in  the    Pine- 
Tree 

The  Students      .... 

The  Little  Prince  . 

The  Ball 

The  Dictionary's  Sons. 

Poor  Old  Books  .... 

Toys 

The  Bath  

Tangles     

The  Dream  Ship. 

The  Apple  Family   . 

The  Teddy  Bear's  Surprise 

The  Rainy  Day  .... 

The  Game  of  Going-to-Bed 


Louise  M.  Oglevee. 
Anne  Schiitze    .... 
Nancy  Byrd  Turner    . 
Rebecca  Deming  Moore    . 
Annie  Willis  McCullough 

Emma  C.  Dowd     . 
Edna  A.  Foster 
Hannah  G.  Fernald    . 
Bertha  E.  Bush     . 
Rebecca  Deming  Moore 
Anne  Schiitze    . 
Nancy  Byrd  Turner    . 
Emma  C.  Dowd     . 
Rebecca  Deming  Moore 
Hannah  G.  Fernald    . 
Rebecca  Deming  Moore 
Emma  C.  Dowd     . 
Hannah  G.  Fernald    . 
Nancy  Byrd  Turner    . 
Rebecca  Deming  Moore 

Nettie  Joy  Allen    . 
Hannah  G.  Fernald    . 
Carolyn  Sherwin  Bailey 
Anna  Burnham  Bryant 
Emma  C.  Dowd     . 
Abbie  Farwell  Brown 
Alice  Van  Leer  Carrick 
Rebecca  Deming  Moore 
Louise  M.  Oglevee. 
Blanche  Elizabeth  Wade 
Rebecca  Deming  Moore 
Carolyn  Shenvin  Bailey 
Rebecca  Deming  Moore 
Anna  Burnham  Bryant 


PAGE 

47 
50 
51 
52 
63 

54 
57 
59 
61 

63 
64 
66 
67 

70 
71 

73 
74 
77 
78 
80 

82 

85 

86 

90 

91 

94 

95 

96 

97 

99 

102 

104 

106 

107 


CONTENTS 


IX 


OUTDOOR  PLAYFELLOWS  AND  INDOOR  TASKS 

PAGE 

The  Playfellow  Wind        .  Elizabeth  Thornton  Turner  111 

The  Lady  Moon   ....  Alice  Turner  Curtis                .  113 

The  Journey Annie  Willis  McCullough      .  11-i 

Daffydowndilly    ....  Carolyn  Sheru-in  Bailey   .      .  115 

The  Pinewood  People    .      .  Elizabeth  Thomion  Turner  117 

Jocko Hannah  G.  Fernald                 .  118 

Grandmother's  Spectacles  Carolyn  Sherwin  Bailey    .      .  120 

Our  Little  Brook      .      .      .  Edith  Dunham 123 

Barbara Nancy  Byrd  Turner    .           .  125 

The   Story   of   the   Little 

Crooked  Tree  ....  Carolyn  Shermn  Bailey    .      .  126 

The  Star Anna  Burnham  Bryant           .  129 

Winged  Things      ....  Anna  Schiitze 130 

My  Garden Anna  Burnham  Bryant     .      .  131 

The  Calendar  of  a  Country 

Child Alice  Van  Leer  Carrick    .      .  132 

For  the  Queen      ....  Blanche  Elizabeth  Wade  .      .  134 

The  Month  of  May  .     .      .  Anna  Burnham  Bryant          .  137 

Clover Annie  Willis  McCullough      .  138 

Mamma's  Little  Housemaid  Harriet  Crocker  LeRoy     .      .  139 

The  Best  Medicine    .      .      .  Jnshua  F.  Crowell  ....  141 

In  Summer Hannah  G.  Fernald     .            .  143 

At  Night Annie  Willis  McCullough       .  144 

Sun  Shadows Alice  Van  Leer  Carrick    .  145 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

But  we  just  choose  a  May  Queen.     This  time 

it's  Sister  Lou Cover  inset 

London  Bridge Frontispiece 


PACING 
PAOB 


There  were  nine  dolls  and  Shep,  the  big  dog     .  14 
They  took   turns   in   being  postmaster  and   in 

coming  for  the  mail 42 

The  Birthday  Ones 66 

Trials  of  Travel 70 

A  Game  of  Hide-and-Seek 82 

A  Soap-Bubble  Party 106 


Outdoor  Playfellows  and  Indoor 
T'asks 


/;;  Play  Land 


MAY-TIME 

SING  a  song  of  May-time, 
And  picnics  in  the  park. 
Such  a  happy  playtime! 
Birds  are  singing  —  hark ! 
Bluebird  calls  to  bluebird, 

Robins  chirp  between, 
And  little  lads  and  lasses 
Are  dancing  on  the  green. 

Marigolds  are  golden 

All  along  the  brooks. 
Violets  are  peeping 

In  the  shady  nooks. 
Out  into  the  fields  now! 

Choose  your  happy  queen; 
For  all  the  lads  and  lasses 

Are  dancing  on  the  green. 

Hannah  G.  Fernald. 


MAKING  BELIEVE 

PATTIE  RAYMOND  was  the  richest 
little  girl  in  the  whole  country.  The 
parties  she  gave  were  really  wonder- 
ful. She  had  a  beautiful  banqueting-room, 
all  one  side  of  which  was  open  to  the  sea. 
The  walls  were  higher  than  any  church  and 
the  painting  on  the  ceiling  more  glorious  than 
anything  a  great  painter  ever  did.  There 
was  a  very  old  and  beautiful  table  in  the 
center  of  this  room,  and  the  dishes  Pattie 
used  were  made  by  the  greatest  of  all  artists. 

Pattie's  guests  were  beautifully  dressed. 
In  the  spring  the  ladies  wore  yellow  and  the 
men  green.  Later,  the  ladies  dressed  in 
rose  color  while  the  men  were  in  dark  green. 
Later  still,  say  in  August,  the  ladies  wore 
pale  pink  and  the  men  pale  green. 

It  was  a  beautiful  sight  to  see  a  thousand 
guests  (Pattie  often  had  more  than  a  thou- 
sand) all  dressed  in  delicate  colors,  fluttering 
and  nodding  and  smiling  under  the  blue 
roof,  with  the  great  sea  stretched  out  before 

4 


MAKING     BELIEVE 


them,  and  Pattie  moving  among  them  like 
a  little  queen. 

Now  let  me  whisper  a  secret.  Any  little 
girl  who  knows  how  to  make  believe  is  just 
as  rich  as  Pattie  was.  For  listen!  Pattie's 
banqueting-room  was  her  grandmother's 
back  pasture.  The  table  w^as  a  splendid 
big  rock.  The  dishes  were  shells  from  the 
shore.  The  ceiling  of  the  room  was  the  great 
dome  of  the  sky. 

The  guests  were  —  well,  in  the  spring  they 
were  buttercups  and  various  green  things;  in 
the  summer  they  were  wild  roses  and  sweet 
fern;  later,  the  guests  that  flocked  to  the  old 
pasture  were  the  lovely  pink  hardhack  and 
pale  green  mullein  stalks. 

Truly,  Pattie  was  not  only  the  richest,  but 

she  was  the  happiest  little  girl  in  the  whole 

countryside. 

Frances  J.  Delano. 


HORSEBACK 

RIGHT  by  our  brook  is  a  lovely  place, 
Where  the  saplings  bow  and  bend. 
And  every  tree  is  a  fairy  horse. 
Which  the  fairy  queen  will  lend, 
If  you  know  just  how  to  pretend. 
Oh,  how  I  wish  for  each  Friday  night. 

When  tomorrow  is  Saturday, 
And  I  can  finish  my  work,  and  then 
Go  down  by  the  brook  to  play. 
Where  the  fairy  horses  stay! 

Anne  Schutze. 


HAYING-TIME 

IN  haying-time  my  grandpa  says  I'm  lots 
of  use  to  him. 
I  take  my  nice  new  wheelbarrow  and  fill 
it  to  the  brim. 
The   big   team   comes    out,   too,   and    takes 

the  hay-cocks  one  by  one. 
And  that  and  my  new  wheelbarrow  soon  get 
the  haying  done. 

Anna  Burnham  Bryant. 


TOYS  AND  SEASONS 

THE  hoops  and  the  marbles,  the  long 
winter  through, 
Had  slept  in  the  garret,  with  nothing 
to  do. 
The  sleds  were  out  sliding,  the  bright  skates 

were  gliding, 
While  poor  hoops  and  marbles  were  hidden 

away, 
Waiting  and  waiting  for  some  one  to  play. 

Spring  sun  and  spring  winds  carried  off  all 

the  snow. 
There   was    mud  for   our    pies;    there   were 

pebbles  to  throw; 
There  were  kites  for  our  flying,  wee  boats 

for  our  trying; 
The  birds  were  all  singing  in  garden  and  lane; 
And  the  hoops  and  the  marbles  were  with 

us  again. 

The  skates  and  the  sleds  have  all  vanished 
from  sight  — 


TOYS     AND     SEASONS  9 

Gone  to  rest,  I  suppose;   I  should  think  that 

they  might. 
No  time  for  condoHng  when  gay  hoops  are 

rolling, 
But  isn't  it  really  a  singular  thing 
The   hoops    and    the    marbles    should   know 

when  it's  spring? 

Hannah  G.  Fernald. 


A  PUZZLING  THING 

EIGHT  of  us  went  to  a  party  — 
The  nicest  ever  given. 
There    was    apple    fluff,    and    frosted 
stuff, 
And  cake  and  candy  and  fruit  enough. 
But  seats  for  only  seven! 

Eight  of  us  hurried  homeward 

After  the  happy  treat. 

With  run  and  bound;    yet  there  were  found 

Only  the  tracks  on  the  dusty  ground 

Of  seven  pairs  of  feet! 

Eight  of  us  got  back  safely. 

And  seven  told  with  glee 

Of  all  we'd  done,  and  the  feast  and  the  fun  — 

But  one  of  us  was  a  silent  one. 

Now,  which  can  that  one  be? 

Nancy  Byrd  Turner. 


10 


WINIFRED'S  LONG  JOURNEY 

WINIFRED  was  seven  years  old  and 
proud  of  her  age.  If  she  had  been 
six,  she  would  have  cried  when 
Uncle  Tom  and  her  two  brothers  went  away 
that  June  morning  to  meet  father  —  at  least, 
so  she  told  mother. 

Winifred's  home  was  in  Redlands  in  south- 
ern California.  Father  had  been  in  Alaska 
three  months.  During  that  time  the  little 
girl  had  grown  so  fast  she  wondered  if  her 
father  would  surely  know  her.  She  was  only 
six  years  old  when  he  went  away. 

The  three  children  were  asleep  the  night 
before  when  mother  told  uncle  Tom  that 
Winifred  was  too  young  to  go  with  him  and 
the  boys  to  Los  Angeles  to  meet  her  father. 

*'You  see,"  mother  reasoned,  "it  is  really 
a  long  journey  for  such  a  little  girl,  and  the 
train  from  San  Francisco  may  be  hours 
late." 

Half  an  hour  after  Uncle  Tom  and  the 
boys  had  gone,  mother  saw  a  funny  sight. 

11 


12  INPLATLAND 

Winifred  was  trailing  through  the  yard  with 
Aunt  Carolyn's  garden  hat  tied  on  with  a 
veil.  Mother's  blue  gingham  kitchen  apron 
was  her  long  gown  that  would  have  dragged 
had  not  the  little  lady  lifted  it  with  a  stylish 
air.  In  her  free  hand  Winifred  carried  her 
mother's  brown  leather  bag. 

"Evidently  traveling,"  mother  said  aloud. 

The  next  moment  an  extremely  polite 
individual  crossed  the  lawn  and  paused  in 
front  of  the  open  window. 

"Pardon  me,  but  are  you  the  ticket  agent?" 
demanded  the  little  lady. 

"Why,  yes,  madam,"  was  mother's  instant 
reply.  She  was  accustomed  to  change  into 
different  characters  at  a  moment's  notice. 
"What  can  I  do  for  you.?" 

"You  may  sell  me  one  grown-up  ticket 
and  ten  children's  tickets  for  Los  Angeles." 

"You  mean,  madam,  one  full  fare  and  ten 
half  fares?" 

"Yes'm  —  madam  —  sir,  if  you  please. 
And  when  does  the  next  train  come?" 

"The  Overland  is  due  in  five  minutes," 
replied  the  station  agent.  "You'll  have  time 
to  check  your  baggage." 

"No  baggage  to  check,  I  thank  you,  sir. 


Winifred's    long    journey  13 

I  am  expecting  my  father  from  San  Francisco 
on  the  afternoon  train,  and  we  are  going  to 
Los  Angeles  to  meet  him.  I  hope  the  brake- 
man  will  help  me  get  on  the  train  with  all 
my  children.  I  left  them  sitting  on  the 
platform." 

Mother  took  the  hint  and  straightway 
became  brakeman.  She  smiled  a  little  too 
broadly  to  suit  Winifred's  dignity,  however, 
when  she  saw  the  waiting  family  on  the 
platform.  There  were  the  nine  dolls  and 
Shep,  the  big  dog,  in  a  row  on  the  steps  of 
the  front  veranda.  Across  the  path  to  the 
front  gate  were  three  orange  boxes.  The 
train  had  arrived. 

"Shep  is  my  biggest  boy,"  the  little  lady 
explained,  just  as  the  conductor  called,  *'All 
aboard!"  and  the  brakeman  had  handed  up 
the  Japanese  baby  to  its  smiling  mother. 
"He  is  the  only  one  I  ever  had  any  trouble 
with.  The  front  seat,  Shep!  Sit  down,  sir! 
We  are  going  on  a  long  journey.     Down,  sir!" 

Shep  sat  down  so  hard  in  front  of  an 
orange  box  that  he  tipped  it  over  and  the 
brakeman  had  to  straighten  it. 

"Your  son,  madam,  seems  a  bit  unruly," 
ventured  the  brakeman. 


14  INPLAYLAND 

"He  is  a  little  clumsy,"  madam  replied, 
"because  he  has  grown  so  fast.  He  is  very 
big  for  his  age.     Sit  down,  sir!" 

Mother  retreated  with  her  sewing  to  the 
veranda,  where  she  could  watch  the  Over- 
land speed  through  the  country.  At  last  it 
was  evident  that  the  train  was  pulling  into 
Los  Angeles.  Madam  put  on  the  children's 
hats,  wiped  their  faces  with  her  handker- 
chief, straightened  her  own  garments,  and 
seized  the  traveling-bag. 

Suddenly  Shep  became  restless.  He  had 
been  a  well-behaved  son  during  the  entire 
journey. 

"Down,  sir,  down!"  commanded  his  anx- 
ious mother.  "We  are  not  going  to  get  off 
at  a  crossing.  We  are  going  into  Arcade 
Station." 

Shep  appeared  to  be  listening,  not  to 
madam,  but  to  distant  footsteps.  He  looked 
at  Mrs.  Winifred,  to  be  sure,  and  then  gave 
a  long,  joyful  howl  that  might  have  aston- 
ished passengers  on  the  Overland. 

"Now  we're  there!"  declared  the  little 
lady.  She  either  had  to  suddenly  arrive  in 
Los  Angeles  or  admit  that  her  only  son  had 
bounded  through  the  window  of  the  Over- 


'^ 

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<a 

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^^ 

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S- 

^^ 


Winifred's    long    journey  15 

land.  Shop  juniped  from  the  train  and  began 
barking  and  leaping  like  a  crazy  "biggest 
boy,"  as  he  flew  to  the  gate. 

The  gate  opened  and  the  next  thing  mother 
knew,  madam's  nine  children  were  sprawling 
in  the  dust,  and  madam,  gingham  traveling- 
gown  and  all,  was  in  her  father's  arms. 

This  was  the  end  of  Winifred's  long  journey 
and  the  end  of  the  story,  except  that  father 
telegraphed  Uncle  Tom  he  had  arrived  on 
the  morning  train  instead  of  the  afternoon 
train  from  San  Francisco. 

Frances  Margaret  Fox. 


A  VOYAGE 

SHE  rowed  'way  out  on  the  Daisy  Sea, 
with  a  really-truly  oar. 
Out  of  a  really-truly  boat,  and  what 
could  you  ask  for  more? 
Her   sea   and   her   boat   were   make-believe, 

but  the  daisy  waves  dashed  high. 
And  'twas  pleasant  to  know  if  the  boat  went 
down  that  her  frock  would  still  be  dry. 

She  rowed  'way  out  on  the  Daisy  Sea,  with 

a  really-truly  oar. 
Past    the    perilous    garden    gate    where    the 

fierce  white  breakers  roar, 
Past  the  rocks  where  the  mermaids  sing  as 

they  comb  their  golden  hair. 
Past  an  iceberg  grim  and  tall,  and  a  great, 

white  polar  bear. 

She  rowed  'way  out  on  the  Daisy  Sea,  with 

a  really-truly  oar, 
Till  she  came  to  an  island  castle,  where  she 

brought  her  boat  ashore. 

16 


AVOTAGE  17 

She  entered  the  castle  boldly,  and  —  wonder- 
ful sight  to  see !  — 

She  had  rowed  straight  home  to  the  dining- 
room  and  the  table  spread  for  tea. 

Hannah  G.  Fernald. 


WORK  AND  PLAY 

WINNIE'S  been  berrying  all  the  day, 
Happy   at   work   that  was   really 
play. 
She  was  a  queen;   the  crown  on  her  head 
Was  her  blue  sunbonnet;    the  berries  red 
That  heaped  her  pails  were  rubies  rare 
That  a  king  might  envy  and  long  to  wear; 
And  the  squirrels  and  birds  beneath  the  firs 
Were  the  gentle,  wordless  courtiers 
Who  seemed  to  know  and  to  understand 
Why  she  strayed  through  the  pleasant  pas- 
ture-land. 
And  now  that  the  sun  is  sinking  down. 
Home  she  goes  in  her  gingham  gown. 
Happy  at  work  that  was  really  play, 
Winnie's  been  berrying  all  the  day. 

Alice  Van  Leer  Carrick. 


18 


ONE  MILE  TO  TOYLAND 

ONE  mile,  one  mile  to  Toyland!" 
Just  s'pose,  to  your  intense 
Astonishment,  you  found  this  sign 
Plain  written  on  a  fence. 
Just  one  short  mile  to  Toyland, 
To  happy  girl  and  boy-land, 
Where  one  can  play  the  livelong  day! 
Now  who  will  hurry  hence? 

There  dollies  grow^  on  bushes. 
And  wooden  soldiers  stand 
With  frisky  rocking-horses  near, 
A  brave  and  dauntless  band; 
And  whips  and  tops  and  whistles 
They  grow  as  thick  as  thistles, 
And  every  kind  of  toy  you  find  — 
A  strange  and  magic  land! 

*'Only  a  mile  to  Toyland!" 

How  big  your  eyes  would  grow. 

And  how  you'd   come  and   stand  stock-still 

19 


20  INPLAYLAND 

To  read  it,  in  a  row; 

Then,  brother,  girls,  and  maybe 

The  puppy  and  the  baby. 

You'd  make  that  mile  in  little  while, 

And  find  that  land,  I  know! 

Nancy  Byrd  Turner. 


CHARLOTTE  THE  CONQUEROR 

WHEN  Charlotte  is  playing  croquet 
It's  really   refreshing  to  see. 
She  wins  in  the  cheerfullest  way. 
Or  loses  (but  rarely!)  with  glee. 
She  chooses  the  ball  that  is  blue, 

And  dashes  straight  into  the  fray. 
I  want  to  be  present  —  don't  you?  — 
When  Charlotte  is  playing  croquet. 

And  Charlotte  is  playing  croquet 

From  breakfast-time  almost  till  tea. 
She  coaxes  us,  *' Please,  won't  you  play?" 

And  somehow,  we  always  agree. 
Then  oh,  for  the  ball  that  is  blue! 

What  matter  the  tasks  of  the  day? 
There's  something  important  to  do. 

For  Charlotte  is  playing  croquet! 

When  Charlotte  is  playing  croquet, 
The  neighbors  come  over  to  see. 

The  grocer  is  tempted  to  stay, 

The  butcher's  boy  gives  advice  free, 

21 


22  INPLAYLAND 

The  doctor,  forgetting  his  care, 

Will  linger  a  bit  on  his  way. 
There  are  partners  enough  and  to  spare. 

When  Charlotte  is  playing  croquet. 

Hannah  G.  Fernald. 


VELOCIPEDE 

I  KNOW  of  a  staid  and  sober  horse 
That  goes  by  a  great,  long  name. 
The  Httle  ones  hke  this  trusty  steed 
That  always  goes  at  a  proper  speed. 
They  call  him  the  good  Velocipede, 
And  he's  never  tired  or  lame. 

Ah,  he  is  the  horse  that  gives  you  fun, 
And  he  is  the  horse  you  need! 

He's  never  balky,  he  eats  no  hay, 

He's  ready  to  either  go  or  stay. 

And  never  was  known  to  run  away  — 
This  good  horse  Velocipede. 

Annie  Willis  McCullough. 


S3 


A  LITTLE  GIRL'S  JOURNEY 

MARY'S  father  called  Mary  his  httle 
make-believe  girl,  because  she  was 
always  making  believe  things.  One 
day  when  Mary  was  expecting  to  go  to  grand- 
ma's for  a  lovely  visit,  word  came  that  Cousin 
Grace  had  the  measles,  and  Mary  must  stay 
at  home.  It  was  a  great  disappointment,  of 
course,  and  at  first  it  seemed  to  Mary  as  if  it 
could  not  possibly  be  true.  When  she  knew 
it  was  true,  she  put  her  little  hands  over  her 
eyes  and  cried  very  hard  for  almost  a  minute. 

All  of  a  sudden  she  thought  of  something 
she  could  make  believe  do.  She  could  make 
believe  visit  grandma.  The  more  Mary 
thought  of  it  the  nicer  it  seemed,  and  in  a 
minute  she  was  just  as  busy  as  a  bee.  She  ran 
up-stairs  and  got  the  suit  case  and  papa's  bag 
and  her  own  little  bag  and  the  shawl-strap. 
Then  she  planned  what  she  would  carry. 

She  got  mamma  to  give  her  some  cookies 
to  take  to  grandpa.  She  put  two  oranges  in 
a  bag  for  Cousin  Grace,  and  found  a  picture- 
book    for    Cousin    Richard.     She    got    some 

24 


A     LITTLE     girl's     JOURNEY  25 

chamois  skin  and  sat  down  to  make  a  spectacle 
wiper  for  grandma.  It  was  almost  night 
when  the  spectacle  wiper  was  finished,  and 
then  Mary  commenced  to  pack  up. 

What  do  you  think  papa  saw  when  he 
came  home  that  night?  He  saw  Mary  making 
believe  going  to  grandma's  house.  She  was 
sitting  in  a  big  chair  with  her  coat  and  hat 
on.  The  suit  case  and  papa's  bag  and  her 
little  bag  and  a  shawl  with  the  shawl-strap 
round  it  were  down  beside  her  chair.  Inside 
the  big  bag  were  the  spectacle  wiper,  the 
picture-book,  the  oranges,  and  some  nice 
cookies.  Mary  was  making  believe  she  was 
in  the  cars,  and  they  were  going  whiz,  whiz, 
and  she  was  looking  out  of  the  window  for 
the  first  sight  of  grandma's  house! 

Papa  laughed  and  laughed  when  he  saw 
the  little  tableau,  and  he  took  Mary  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  her  a  dozen  times,  Mary 
laughed,  too,  as  happy  as  a  lark,  and  she  and 
papa  talked  about  the  visit  all  through  din- 
ner. Two  weeks  afterward  Mary  did  make 
a  real  visit  at  grandma's  house.  So  you  see 
she  had  two  visits  —  a  lovely  make-believe 
one  and  a  lovely  real  one. 

Frances  J.  Delano. 


APPLE-TREE  INN 

IT  stands  by  the  roadside,   cool-shuttered 
and  high, 
With   cordial  welcome  for  all  who  pass 
by; 
And   here's   how   you   enter  —  you   make   a 

quick  dash 
And  scale  the  steep  stair  with  a  bound,  in  a 

flash. 
You  cross  the  clean  threshold  and  find  you  a 

chair. 
There's  room  for  all  comers  and  plenty  to 

spare. 
You  can  rock,  you  can  rest,  happy  lodging 

you  win 
Who  stop  for  an  hour  at  Apple-tree  Inn. 

The  walls  and  the  roof  and  the  ceiling  are 

green. 
With    rifts    of    light    blue    that    are    painted 

between. 
The  seats  are  upholstered  in  brown  and  dark 

gray, 

26 


APPLE-TREEINN  27 

And  yet,  for  it  all,  not  a  penny  to  pay. 
Then,   when   you   are   hungry,   the   table   is 

spread 
With  fare  that  is  dainty,  delicious,  and  red. 
Oh,  hurry  and  come  if  you  never  have  been 
A  guest  in  your  travels  at  Apple-tree  Inn! 
Nancy  Byrd  Turner. 


MAY  DAY 

(In  England  "the  May"  meant  hawthorn,  and 
these  pretty  blossoms  were  brought  to  the  houses  of 
friends,  because  people  believed  they  brought  good 
luck.  The  little  song  in  the  poem  was  really  sung  in 
England  about  three  hundred  years  ago.) 

WHEN  good  folk  went  a-Maying, 
And  England  still  was  young. 
They  got  up,  oh,  so  early, 
To  find  the  dew  all  pearly; 
And  this  was  what  they  sung: 

"We've  been  rambling  all  the  night, 

And  almost  all  the  day. 
And  now  returned  home  again 

We  have  brought  you  back  the  May." 

Robin  Hood  went  a-Maying 

And  all  his  merry  band. 
Scarlet,  Tuck,  and  Little  John 
Through  green  Sherwood  wandered  on 

With  hawthorn  boughs  in  hand. 

28 


MAYDAY  29 

"We've  been  rambling  all  the  night, 

And  almost  all  the  day, 
And  now  returned  home  again 

We  have  brought  you  back  the  May." 

But  we  just  choose  a  May  Queen, 

This  time  it's  sister  Lou. 
W^e  take  the  noon-time  hours, 
And  weave  the  sweetest  flowers, 

But  sing  the  same  song,  too: 

*' We've  been  rambling  all  the  night, 

And  almost  all  the  day. 
And  now  returned  home  again 

We  have  brought  you  back  the  May." 
Alice  Van  Leer  Carrick. 


PRETENDING 

WE  played  we  were  lost  in  the  wood. 
But  home  was  just  over  the  hill. 
With  only  one  cooky  for  food, 
We  played  we  were  lost  in  the  wood. 
We  talked  just  as  loud  as  we  could. 

The  world  seemed  so  big  and  so  still. 
We  wished  we  had  always  been  good. 

And  we  said  in  our  hearts,  "Now  we  will." 

We  gathered  fresh  grass  for  our  bed. 
And  then  there  was  nothing  to  do. 

A  robin  flew  over  my  head 

As  we  gathered  fresh  grass  for  our  bed. 

"He'll  cover  us  up,"  brother  said, 
And  then  he  began  to  boo-hoo, 

And  home  to  our  mother  we  fled. 
Or,  really,  I  might  have  cried  too. 

Hannah  G.  Fernald. 


so 


HER  ANSWER 

IT  was  an  easy  question  and  Margie  thought 
it  so, 
An  easy  one  to  answer,  as  any  one  would 

know. 
She  smiled  and  smiled  again  as  it  hung  upon 

the  wall: 
"In  going  to  school  what  do  you  like  the  very 

best  of  all?" 
Then  grew  a  little  sober  as  she  began  to  write. 
With   wrinkles   on   her   forehead   and   lips   a 

little  tight. 
She  wrote  her  answer  carefully,  with  look  so 

grave  and  wise. 
She  minded  all  her  capitals  and  dotted  all 

her  I's, 
She  crossed  her  T's  precisely,  she  smiled  a 

little  more 
At    all    the    pleasant    images    the    pleasant 

question  bore 
Of   all   the   merry,   laughing  hours,   and   all 

the  joyous  play  — 
"The  thing  I  like  the  best  of  all  in  school  — 
a  holiday."  Sidney  Dayre. 

SI 


A  TROUBLESOME  DAUGHTER 

ANGELICA    SUE    is    the    carelessest 
child! 
The  trouble  she  makes  me  is  per- 
fectly fearful. 
I  told  her  this  morning,  but  she  only  smiled, 
And  swung  in  her  hammock,  and  looked 
just  as  cheerful. 
I'm  sure  I  should  feel  I  had  nothing  to  do. 
If  some  one  adopted  Angelica  Sue. 

It's  always  Angelica  falls  in  the  dust, 

Angelica's  frock  that  gets  torn  on  the  fences. 

The  other  dolls  sit  as  I  tell  them  they  must. 
But  when  she  comes  out,  then  the  trouble 
commences. 

Wherever  I  go,  or  whatever  I  do. 

She's  sure  to  be  with  me  —  Angelica  Sue. 

Oh,  nobody  knows  how  I  work  for  that  child ! 
But  once,  when  I  spoke  of  her  ways  to  my 
brother, 

32 


A     TROUBLESOME     DAUGHTER  33 

He  said,  and  he  looked  at  us  both,  and  he 
smiled, 
*' Angelica  Susan  takes  after  her  mother!" 
I've  wondered  since  then  if  it  really  can  be 
AngeHca  Sue  is  a  Httle  like  me. 

Hannah  G.  Fernald. 


THE  RACE 

ACROSS  the  field  and  down  the  hill 
I  ran  a  race  with  Cousin  Will, 
And  lost  my  shoe,  I  ran  so  fast, 
And  that  is  why  I  came  in  last. 

But  Cousin  Will  would  try  once  more 
Across  the  field  down  to  the  shore. 
This  time  all  would  have  ended  well, 
Only  I  stubbed  my  toe  and  fell. 

And  then  we  raced  across  the  yard. 
And  though  I  ran  as  swift  and  hard 
As  Cousin  Will,  yet  some  way  he 
Got  to  the  place  ahead  of  me. 

Will  says  to  lose  is  no  disgrace. 
That  trying  really  makes  a  race. 
'Twas  trying,  he  says,  made  the  fun, 
That  all  we  wanted  was  the  run. 

Alice  Turner  Curtis. 


S4 


A  SLEEPY-HEAD  TOP 

MY  top  is  just  the  very  best, 
But,  my!  it  is  the  laziest. 
It  sleeps,  and  sleeps,  and  sleeps  all 
day, 
And  doesn't  want  to  come  and  play. 
Then,  when  it  spins,  it  sleeps  the  more. 
It  stands  up  straight,  but  it  will  snore. 
Until  it  is  so  sound  asleep 
It  tumbles  over  in  a  heap. 

Sinclair  Lewis. 


85 


In  the  House  on  Stormy  Days 


T 


A  RAINY  DAY  PLAN 

HE  world's  wet  and  stormy, 
The  wind's  in  a  rage. 
We  are  shut  in  the  house 

Like  poor  birds  in  a  cage. 
There's  a  sigh  in  the  chimney, 

A  roar  on  the  wall. 
Good-by  to  "I  Spy" 

And  to  swinging  and  all! 
But  the  child  that  complains 

Cannot  better  the  day. 
So  the  harder  it  rains, 

Why,  the  harder  we'll  play! 

There  are  tears  on  the  window 

And  sighs  in  the  trees. 
But  who's  going  to  fret 

Over  matters  like  these? 
If  the  sky's  got  to  cry. 

Then  it's  better  by  half 
That  the  longer  it  weeps, 

Why,  the  louder  we'll  laugh! 
And  look!     I  declare, 

89 


40  INPLATLAND 

There's  the  sun  coming  out 
To  see  what  on  earth 
All  the  fun  is  about! 

Nancy  Byrd  Turner. 


POST-OFFICE 

JEANNETTE  and  Margery  were  sewing 
for  their  dolls  when  mamma  came  in 
from  her  walk. 
"I  have  just  invited  Mrs.  Graham^s  little 
nephew  to  come  over  and  play  with  you," 
said  Mrs.  Berry.  "He  will  be  here  in  a 
minute." 

"O  mamma!  what  made  you  ask  him?" 
cried  Jeannette.  "Margery  and  I  were  going 
to  have  such  a  nice  time  this  afternoon." 

"Perhaps  he  will  make  it  nicer,"  smiled 
Mrs.  Berry. 

"Oh,  he  won't!"  pouted  Jeannette.  "He's 
so  little  he  prob'ly  won't  know  how  to  play 
anything  much,  and  we  shall  have  to  amuse 
him." 

"I  am  sorry  if  I  have  interfered  with  your 
plans,"  Mrs.  Berry  replied.  "I  was  only 
thinking  how  lonely  he  looked.  But  make 
the  best  of  it,  dear,  and  try  to  give  him  a 
good  time,  even  if  you  don't  enjoy  it  your- 
self.    There  he  comes." 

41 


42  INPLAYLAND 

"I  guess  I'll  go  home,"  said  Margery, 
hastily  folding  up  the  doll's  coat  she  had  been 
making. 

"Please  stay!"  Jeannette  begged. 

So  Margery  said,  "All  right,  I  will  a  little 
while,"  and  settled  back  in  her  seat. 

Chester  Gray  was  a  round-faced,  big-eyed, 
laughing  little  lad,  and  did  not  look  as  small 
as  he  had  seemed  across  the  street. 

"What  would  you  like  to  play.^"  asked 
Jeannette  politely. 

Chester  glanced  around  the  living-room, 
beaming  on  the  old-fashioned  chairs. 

"You  can  play  post-office  beautifully,  can't 
you?"  he  answered. 

"  Post-oflace?  "  repeated  Jeannette.  "  I  don't 
know  how." 

"Oh,  then  we  will  now!"  declared  Chester. 
"It's  lots  of  fun." 

And  fun  it  was,  to  judge  from  the  hours 
spent  at  the  sport  and  the  children's  happy 
faces  all  the  time.  They  took  turns  at  being 
postmaster  and  in  coming  for  mail.  They 
tied  up  newspapers  and  magazines,  which 
with  mamma's  old  letters  made  the  mail-bag 
—  the  old  rag-bag  —  pretty  full.  The  chairs, 
set  in  a  row  with  seats  to  the  office,  were  the 


POST-OFFICE  43 

distributing  table  for  the  mail,  and  when 
the  letters  and  packages  were  placed  between 
the  sticks  of  the  backs,  the  place  looked 
quite  like  a  post-office. 

Jeannette  watched  her  guests  out  of  sight 
with  happy  eyes.  "Post-office  is  a  splendid 
play,"  she  said,  turning  to  mamma. 

"Then  you  are  not  sorry,  after  all,  that 
Chester  came?" 

"Why,  no,  mamma;  I'm  as  glad  as  can 
be.  I  guess  he  knows  more  than  Margery 
and  I,  if  he  is  little.  We  never  even  heard  of 
playing  post-office." 

Emma  C.  Dowd. 


PICTURE-BOOK  TIME 

WHENEVER    the    rain-drops    come 
pattering  down, 
And  the  garden's  too  dripping  for 
play, 
Whenever  poor  nursie's  determined  to  frown, 

Or  mother  dear's  just  gone  away. 
Then    up    to   the    nursery    book-shelves   we 

climb. 
For   trouble    time's    always   a   picture-book 
time! 

When  some  one's  been  naughty,  and  some 
one  is  sad. 
When  the  new  walking  bear  will  not  go, 
When  the  kitten  is  lost  or  the  puppy  is  bad, 

When  Mary  hates  learning  to  sew, 
Then   up   to   the   nursery   book-shelves   we 

climb, 
For  trouble  time's  always  a  picture-book  time! 

And  there  in  the  pictures  the  world  seems  so 
gay, 

44 


PICTURE-BOOKTIME  45 

And  everything  always  goes  right. 
The  gardens  are  sunny,  the  children  at  play, 

There's  seldom  a  picture-book  night. 
No  wonder  we  love  to  sit  cosily  curled, 
Forgetting    our    woes    in    the    picture-book 
world. 

The  dear,  merry  pages!    we  know  them  so 
well, 
And  when  they  are  folded  away. 
Our  troubles  have  vanished  as  if  by  a  spell. 

And  nothing  is  wrong  with  the  day. 
The  nursery  book-shelves  are  easy  to  climb. 
And  no  time  is  better  than  picture-book  time! 
Hannah  G.  Fernald. 


THE  TOPSY-TURVY  DOLL 

TOPSY-TURVY  came  to  me 
On  our  last  year's  Christmas  tree. 
She  is  just  the  queerest  doll, 
Much  the  strangest  of  them  all. 
Now  you  see  her,  cheeks  of  red. 
Muslin  cap  upon  her  head, 
Bright  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair. 
Never  face  more  sweet  and  fair. 
Presto!    change!     She's  black  as  night. 
Woolly  hair  all  curling  tight. 
Coal-black  eyes,  thick  lips  of  red. 
Bright  bandanna  on  her  head. 
She's  not  two,  as  you'd  suppose, 
"When  Topsy  comes.  Miss  Turvy  goes. 
Perhaps  it's  as  it  is  with  me. 
Sometimes  another  child  there'll  be, 
And  mother  says,  "Where  is  my  Flo? 
I  wish  that  naughty  girl  would  go." 

Rebecca  Deming  Moore. 


46 


THE  MILKWEED  POD  THAT 
HELPED 

IT  was  sweeping  day  and  mother  had 
found  bits  of  milkweed  down  every- 
where. "You  really  mustn't  bring  any 
more  of  the  pods  into  the  house,  Grace," 
she  said. 

"They're  so  pretty,"  sighed  Grace,  "but 
the  down  does  fly  around  lots."  Then  she 
asked  wistfully,  "Can't  I  have  one  pod  if 
I  keep  it  done  up  in  a  paper  and  put  it  away 
in  a  box?" 

Her  mother  smiled.  "Of  course  you  may 
do  that  if  you  wish  to,"  she  said,  "but  what 
do  you  want  it  for?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Grace,  "but  I'll 
know  it's  there."  So  she  wrapped  up  the 
largest  pod  she  could  find  and  put  it  in  a 
box  in  the  playroom,  and  soon  forgot  all 
about  it." 

One  afternoon  there  was  a  great  chatter- 
ing and  laughing  down -stairs,  for  Grace's 
Aunt    Elsa    was    entertaining    her    Sunday- 

47 


48  INPLAYLAND 

school  class  of  twelve  merry,  mischievous 
boys.  A  gentleman  was  to  amuse  them  with 
his  phonograph,  but  just  after  the  boys 
arrived  a  message  came  saying  he  could  not 
be  there,  and  poor  Aunt  Elsa  was  greatly 
troubled. 

"What  can  I  do  to  entertain  them?"  she 
asked,  after  they  had  played  all  the  games 
she  could  think  of,  but  Grace's  mother  could 
not  think  of  anything. 

They  were  beginning  to  get  noisy  and  rest- 
less when  one  of  them  happened  to  find, 
caught  in  a  fold  of  the  curtain,  a  bit  of 
tiny  milkweed  down.  A  puflF  of  his  breath, 
and  away  it  floated,  with  all  the  boys  puflSng 
and  blowing  to  keep  it  going. 

"If  we  had  some  more  we  could  play  the 
games  we  played  at  a  picnic  last  summer," 
said  one  of  the  boys. 

As  he  spoke  Grace's  eyes  began  to  shine, 
and  without  a  word  she  ran  out  of  the  room. 
In  a  minute  she  was  back  with  the  milkweed 
pod  in  her  hand,  which  she  had  put  away  so 
long  ago. 

Then  such  fun  as  they  had!  Two  of  the 
boys,  with  hands  behind  them,  had  a  contest 
to  see  which  could  keep  one  of  the  tiny  bits 


THE    MILKWEED    POD     THAT    HELPED       49 

of  down  in  the  air  the  longest.  Then  all 
the  boys  stood  in  a  row,  and  a  little  prize  was 
given  to  the  one  who  was  the  last  to  let  his 
"feather"  fall. 

They  played  till  time  for  the  refreshments; 
and  when  they  went  home  they  all  declared 
that  they  had  had  the  finest  kind  of  a  time 
at  the  "milkweed  party." 

Louise  M.  Oglevee. 


THE  QUIET  CHILD 

OF  course  I  like  a  running  game  — 
To  shout,  and  laugh,  and  rush  pell- 
mell. 
And  catch  the  rest;    but  all  the  same 
I  like  to  hear  my  grandma  tell 
Of  the  old  time  she  loved  so  well, 
When  she  was  a  little  girl. 

My  mother  says  I'm  never  still. 
That  I  run  miles  and  miles  a  day; 
But  when  I  run  across  the  hill 
To  grandma's  house,  an  hour  to  stay, 
I  sit  so  still,  and  hear  her  say, 
"When  I  was  a  little  girl." 

Anne  Schijtze.  ' 


50 


MY  HORSE 

I  GIVE  my  pony  corn  and  hay, 
With  oats  to  tempt  him  twice  a  week; 
I  smooth  and  curry  every  day 
Until  his  coat  is  bright  and  sleek; 
At  night  he  has  a  cosy  stall; 
He  does  not  seem  to  care  at  all. 

I  mount  him  often,  hurriedly, 

And  ride  him  fast  and  ride  him  far; 

With  whip  and  spur  I  make  him  fly 
Along  the  road  where  robbers  are; 

But  when  I've  galloped  madly  home 

He  is  not  wet  or  flecked  with  foam. 

He  does  not  plunge  against  the  rein, 
Nor  take  a  ditch  nor  clear  a  rail. 

He  does  not  toss  his  flowing  mane,' 
He  does  not  even  switch  his  tail. 

Oh,  well,  he  does  his  best,  of  course; 

He's  nothing  but  a  hobby-horse! 

Nancy  Byrd  Turner. 


51 


TWO  POCKETS 

THERE  are  two  bulging  pockets  that 
I  have  in  mind. 
Just   hsten   and   see    if    the    owners 
you'll  find. 
In    one  —  it's    quite    shocking  —  there's    a 

round  wad  of  gum, 
A  china  doll's  head  and  a  half  finished  sum, 
A  thimble,  a  handkerchief  —  sticky,  I  fear  — 
A  dolly's  blue  cap  and  some  jackstones  are 

here. 
In  the  other  are  marbles  and  fishhooks  and 

strings. 
Some  round  shiny  stones  and  a  red  top  that 

sings, 
A  few  apple  cores  and  a  tin  full  of  bait, 
A  big   black   jack-knife   in   a   sad   bladeless 

state. 
And  now  I  wonder  how  many  can  guess 
Which  pocket  Bob  owns  and  which  one  does 
Bess? 

Rebecca  Deming  Moore. 


62 


MY  DOLLY 

THERE'S  nothing  so  nice  as  dolly! 
She  comforts  me  when  I'm  sad. 
She  keeps  me  from  getting  lonely, 
She  smiles  at  me  when  I'm  glad. 
She's  such  a  delightful  playmate, 

And  causes  me  so  much  joy, 
I  wouldn't  exchange  her  for  all  the  toys 
That  people  give  to  a  boy. 

Annie  Willis  McCullough. 


53 


AUNT  RUTH'S  NEW  SPELLING 
GAME 

AUNT  RUTH  had  been  away  on  a 
month's  visit,  and  was  welcomed 
home  with  joy. 

"Have  you  any  new  games?"  asked  AHce. 
"I  know  you  have,  by  the  way  your  eyes 
twinkle." 

"I  have  learned  a  new  spelling  game," 
her  aunt  replied. 

"Oh,  can  we  try  it  tonight?"  begged 
Norton. 

"I  am  ready,"  she  answered,  "if  the  others 
are." 

Carl  and  Bertha  came  over  to  Aunt  Ruth's 
side,  and  she  began  explaining  the  game. 

"It  is  a  very  easy  game.  All  it  needs  is 
quick  thought  and  a  knowledge  of  spelling. 
I  think  of  some  word  and  spell  it,  but  I 
must  choose  a  word  that  has  another  word 
within  it,  and  that  I  only  pronounce.  You 
will  soon  see  how  it  goes.  Here  is  one, 
G-e  or  g-e." 

54 


AUNT    RUT  II 's    NEW    SPELLING    GAME       55 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  then 
Carl  cried,  "  Oh,  George !     Why,  that's  good ! " 

"Yes;  we  had  a  good  deal  of  fun  with  it 
at  your  Uncle  Henry's,"  said  Aunt  Ruth. 
*'It  is  your  turn  now,  Carl,  to  give  a  word." 

After  a  minute's  pause,  "C  or  n,"  he 
spelled. 

Bertha  was  the  first  to  say,  "Corn,"  but 
she  could  not  think  of  another  word,  so 
Aunt  Ruth  gave  one. 

"H  and  1-e,"  she  spelled. 

The  four  Chapins  thought  hard,  but  it 
was  more  puzzling  than  the  others.  Then 
Bertha  cried,   "Handle!" 

"Of  course!"  Carl  exclaimed,  in  a  dis- 
gusted voice.  "I  don't  see  what  there  is 
about  it  that  mixes  us  up  so." 

"There  is  where  the  fun  of  the  game  comes 
in,"  laughed  Aunt  Ruth.     "Now,  Bertha." 

"M  and  a-t-e,"  Bertha  spelled,  and  this 
word  took  a  longer  time  than  the  others. 

Carl  guessed  it  and  gave,  "S  hoe  s," 
which  Alice  pronounced  almost  at  once. 

As  a  new  word  she  gave,  "B-e  to  k-e-n," 
and  Aunt  Ruth  was  the  first  to  guess  it. 

"C  love  r,"  she  said,  and  Carl  followed 
with,  "B-e-s  to  w." 


56  INPLAYLAND 

Bertha  guessed  "bestow,"  and  gave,  "Q-u 
in  c-e." 

Then  Aunt  Ruth  gave  one  containing 
two  words,  "H  is  to  r-y,"  and  Carl,  "B  is 
c-u  it. 

"Bed  t-i  me!"  called  father,  across  the 
room,  which  made  everybody  laugh. 

"Bedtime!"  shouted  Norton.  "That's  the 
first  one  I've  guessed." 

Emma  C.  Dowd. 


THE  LITTLE  BOOK  PEOPLE 

AT  half  past  eight  I  say  "good  night'* 
and  snuggle  up  in  bed. 
I'm   never   lonely,   for   it's   then   I 
hear  the  gentle  tread 
Of  all  the  tiny  book  people.     They  come  to 

visit  me, 
And  lean  above  my  pillow  just  as  friendly  as 

can  be! 
Sometimes    they    cling   against    the   wall   or 

dance  about  in  air. 
I  never  hear  them  speak  a  word,  but  I  can 

see  them  there. 
When  Cinderella  comes  she  smiles  with  happy, 

loving  eyes. 
And  makes  a  funny  nod  at  me  when  she  the 

slipper  tries. 
Dear  Peter  Pan  flies  in  and  out.     I  see  his 

shadow,  too, 
And   often   see  his   little  house  and   all  his 

pirate  crew. 
I  think  they  know  I  love  them  and  that's 

why  they  come  at  night, 

67 


58  INPLAYLAND 

When  other  people  do  not  know  that  they've 

shpped  out  of  sight; 
But  I  have  often  been  afraid  that  while  they 

visit  me 
Some  other  little  boy,  perhaps,  may  stay  up 

after  tea, 
And  when  he  tries  to  find  them  on  the  pages 

of  his  book 
He  cannot  see  them   anywhere,   though  he 

may  look  and  look! 
That's  why  I  never  stay  awake  nor  keep 

them  here  too  long. 
I  go  to  sleep  and  let  them  all  slip  back  where 

they  belong. 

Edna  A.  Foster. 


AFTER   SCHOOL 

I'VE  come  to  you  again,  my  dear.     There's 
no  more  school  today. 
Let's  cuddle  down   a   little   while  before 
we  go  to  play, 
And  you  shall  tell  me  what  you've  done,  and 

whether  you've  felt  sad. 
I  always  hurry  home  because  I  know  you'll 
be  so  glad. 

I  had  a  thought  in  school  today  —  I  quite 
forgot  my  book  — 

I  seemed  to  see  you  waiting,  and  how  lonely 
you  must  look, 

And  all  the  other  children's  dolls,  ten  thou- 
sand, I  suppose, 

All  sitting  up  so  patiently,  and  turning  out 
their  toes. 

And  then  when  I  was  called  upon  to  answer 

"four  times  four," 
I  failed,  and  teacher  told  me  that  I  ought  to 

study  more. 

69 


60  INPLAYLAND 

She  asked  if  I  had  done  my  best.     I  had  to 

answer,  *'No'm." 
I  don't  believe  she  leaves  a  little  lonely  doll 

at  home! 

Hannah  G.  Fernald. 


A  GAME  FOR  THE  FIRESIDE 

TE  family  were  gathered  around  the 
fireplace  and  were  all  enjoying  the 
coziness  and  warmth. 

"How  nice  it  is  to  be  here  by  the  fire  and 
hear  the  wind  howl  outside!"  said  Ethel. 

"There's  just  one  thing  we  need  to  make 
us  perfectly  comfortable,"  said  Charlie,  with 
a  roguish  glance  at  his  elders. 

"What  is  it?" 

"Somebody  to  be  telling  us  a  story." 

"Oh  yes,  a  story!  Let's  have  a  story," 
cried  Orrin  and  Betty,  clapping  their  hands. 

But  mamma  did  not  look  so  happy  at  the 
plan.     She  was  the  story-teller  of  the  family. 

"Oh,  it  takes  so  much  nerve-force!"  she 
said,  with  a  Httle  laugh  that  was  meant  to 
hide  how  tired  she  really  was.  Mothers 
have  a  good  deal  to  do  in  winter  days. 
"  Don't  ask  me  for  one.  Some  of  you  children 
tell  one." 

"I'll  tell  you.  Let's  play  a  game  to  decide 
which  shall  tell  it,"  said  Orrin.  "I'll  show 
you  a  game." 

61 


62  INPLAYLAND 

He  took  a  bit  of  pine  wood  from  the  kindling 
basket,  and  lit  one  end  in  the  shining  coals. 
Then  he  passed  it  to  Ethel. 

"Jack's  alive,"  he  said.  "The  fire  at  the 
end  of  the  stick  is  Jack.  Pass  it  around  the 
circle  as  quick  and  as  many  times  as  you  can. 
As  long  as  a  red  spark  is  left  at  the  end  of 
the  stick  Jack's  alive,  and  you  are  all  right. 
But  if  the  spark  goes  out  in  your  hands,  you 
are  the  one  who  must  tell  the  story." 

What  fun  it  was !  Orrin  passed  it  so  quickly 
that  he  never  had  to  tell  a  story.  Betty  and 
Charlie  and  Ethel  were  all  caught,  and  once 
they  caught  mamma,  to  their  great  delight. 
She  was  rested  by  this  time,  and  her  story 
lasted  till  the  hour  for  bed. 

"It's  the  jolliest  game  you  could  think 
of  for  such  an  evening  around  the  fire,"  they 
said. 

Bertha  E.  Bush. 


1 


THE  WOODEN  HORSE 

'M  just  a  wooden  horsy,  and  I  work  hard 
all  the  day 
At  hauling  blocks  and  dollies  in  my  little 
painted  dray. 


Sometimes  they  feed  me  make-believe,  some- 
times nothing  at  all. 

And  sometimes  I'm  left  standing  on  my  head 
out  in  the  hall. 

I  try  to  be  most  patient,  but  'twas  just  the 

other  day 
I  got  provoked  with  Teddy  Bear  and  almost 

ran  away. 

Rebecca  Deming  Moore. 


63 


A  RAINY  SATURDAY 

SOME  children  cry  on  a  rainy  day, 
And  say,  "What  a  shame!     Now  we 
can't  play." 
But  at  our  house  when  the  work  is  done, 
And  the  drops  are  pouring  —  oh,  what  fun !  — 
My  brothers  shout, 
"Come  out!     Come  out! 
Hurrah!  it's  a  rainy  day!" 

I  like  to  live  on  a  rainy  day. 
We  run  to  the  barn  where  they  store  the  hay. 
And  climb  to  the  great,  big,  dim  hay-mow, 
Where  the  misty  shadows  bend  and  bow, 
And  each  can  do 
What  he  chooses  to. 
All  the  long,  long,  rainy  day. 

The  boys  are  explorers  of  great  renown. 
They're  digging  a  tunnel  to  China-town. 
I  ride  on  the  rafters  strong  and  high  — 
An  air-ship  speeding  across  the  sky  — 

64, 


ARAINYSATURDAY  65 

And  we  are  free 

Till  the  call  for  tea 

Puts  an  end  to  the  rainy  day, 

Puts  an  end  to  the  happy  day. 

.   Anne  Sciiutze. 


THE  BIRTHDAY  ONES 

I  AM  the  birthday  baby. 
And  this  is  the  birthday  horse. 
They  gave  him  to  me  because  I  was  three 
And  knew  how  to  drive,  of  course. 
He's  trotted  and  walked  and  galloped, 

And  traveled  the  whole  birthday; 
He's  carried  a  load  up  the  hilly  road, 
And  once  he  has  run  away. 

I've  fed  him  high  in  the  stable, 

I've  watered  him  at  the  trough, 
I've  curried  him  down  to  a  glossy  brown. 

And  taken  his  harness  off. 
Now  we  are  resting  a  little, 

Because  there  has  got  to  be 
A  long,  stiff  run  before  we're  done, 

For  the  birthday  horse  and  me! 

Nancy  Bykd  Turner. 


66 


^' 


O 

Si 


r 


ACTING  RHYMES 

ALICE  CHAPIN  had  been  sick  with 
grip  and  was  still  too  weak  to  sit 
up  much.  Aunt  Ruth  came  in 
and  found  her  lying  on  the  couch,  looking 
lonely  and  discouraged. 

"I  wish  I  could  get  well,  so  I  could  play 
something,"  Alice  said,  mournfully. 

"Wait  a  bit,"  Aunt  Ruth  answered.  "I 
have  something  in  mind." 

She  went  out  and  closed  the  door. 

When  she  came  back  she  said,  "You  and 
I  are  to  think  of  a  word  that  has  a  good 
many  rhymes.  Then  we  will  give  one  of  the 
rhymes  to  the  others,  and  —  but  you'll  see! 
I  wonder  what  word  will  be  best." 

"'Sweet'  has  plenty  of  rhymes,"  suggested 
Ahce. 

"Plenty,"  agreed  her  aunt.  "Suppose  we 
say  it  rhymes  with  'fleet.'" 

Aunt  Ruth  went  to  the  door  and  called, 
"Our  word  rhymes  with  'fleet'!" 

Then  she  drew  the  curtains  that  separated 

67 


IN    PLAY    LAND 


the  living-room  from  the  next,  and  wheeled 
the  couch  in  front  of  them. 

There  was  a  bustle  behind  the  curtains, 
and  at  a  word  Aunt  Ruth  pulled  them  aside. 

Alice  saw  two  rows  of  chairs  facing  one 
another,  evidently  representing  a  car  or 
omnibus.  Carl  and  Norton  occupied  two, 
and  four  dolls  the  rest.  When  Bertha 
appeared,  looking  for  a  place  to  sit,  Carl 
jumped  up,  pointing  to  his  chair  with  a  great 
flourish. 

"Oh,  'seat'!"  cried  Alice. 

"No,  the  word  is  not  'seat.'" 

The  curtains  went  together,  and  there  was 
much  subdued  chattering  on  the  other  side. 

"This  is  fun!"  whispered  Ahce,  gleefully. 

The  next  scene  showed  a  table,  around 
which  sat  the  three.  They  were  munching 
biscuits. 

"It  isn't  'eat,'"  laughed  Alice. 

There  were  a  good  many  trials  before  the 
right  word  was  hit  upon.  Bertha  and  Carl 
appeared  in  street  clothes  and,  coming  from 
opposite  sides  of  the  room,  met  under  the 
chandelier.  The  next  scene  was  similar,  only 
that  they  shook  hands  cordially.  These  words 
were    "meet"    and    "greet."     Then    Norton 


ACTING     RHYMES 


69 


turned  a  somersault  for  "feat,"  and  they  all 
cried  ''ha-a-a,  ba-a-a,  ba-a-a"  which  stood 
for  "bleat." 

They  swept  and  dusted  for  "neat,"  and 
they  lounged  about,  fanning  vigorously  and 
mopping  their  faces,  for  "heat."  Once  when 
the  curtains  were  pushed  apart  Alice  stared 
at  a  row  of  feet.  They  all  laughed  over  this, 
and  then  they  guessed  the  right  word  by 
appearing  before  the  audience  eating  sugar, 
and  their  arms  around  one  another's  necks. 

"We  had  the  best  of  it  —  acting,"  declared 
Norton. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  returned  Alice. 
"It  is  fun  to  wait  and  wonder  what  is  coming 
next.     It  is  about  as  nice  as  tableaux." 

Emma  C.  Dowd. 


THE  TRIALS  OF  TRAVEL 

BOOHOO,  booKoo,  boohoo,  boohoo! 
My  mother  says  I  can't  take  Sue 
And  Grace  and  Maud  and  Clarabel 
And  Ruth  and  Beth  and  sweet  Estelle, 
Unless  I  pack  them  with  our  things. 
Oh  dear!    oh  dear!    my  heart  it  wrings 
To  put  them  in  that  hot,  dark  place, 
With  paper  wrapped  around  each  face. 
I'm  sure  they  all  would  suffocate 
Or  meet  some  other  dreadful  fate. 
I'd  gladly  take  them  on  my  arm 
And  keep  them  safe  from  every  harm, 
But  mother  says  that  that  won't  do; 
She  draws  the  line  at  more  than  two. 
I'd  like  to  know  what  she  would  say 
To  sending  me  packed  in  a  tray. 

Rebecca  Deming  Moore. 


70 


"TRIALS  of  Travel 


BOOKS 

MY  father's  books  are  made  of  words, 
As  long  and  hard  as  words  can  be. 
They  look  so  very  dull  to  me! 
No  pictures  there  of  beasts  and  birds. 
Of  dear  Miss  Muffet  eating  curds, 
And  things  a  child  would  like  to  see. 

My  books  have  pictures,  large  and  small. 
Some  brightly  colored,  some  just  plain, 
I  look  them  through  and  through  again. 
Friends  from  their  pages  seem  to  call. 
Jack  climbs  his  bean-stalk  thick  and  tall, 
I  know  he  will  not  climb  in  vain. 

Here  comes  Red-Riding-Hood,  and  here 
The  Sleeping  Beauty  lies  in  state. 
The  prince  will  come  ere  'tis  too  late! 
And  this  is  Cinderella  dear. 
The  godmother  will  soon  appear 
And  send  her  to  her  happy  fate. 

71 


72  INPLAYLAND 

Oh,  father's  books  are  very  wise, 
As  wise  as  any  books  can  be! 
Yet  he  wants  stories,  I  can  see; 
For  really,  it's  a  great  surprise 
How  many  picture-books  he  buys. 
And  reads  the  fairy  tales  to  me! 

Hannah  G.  Fernald. 


DOLLS 

CURLY  head,  straight  head,  head  hke 
a  ball, 
Japanese,  sailor,  girl  and  boy  doll. 
Fingers   gone,   toes   gone  —  lost   in   a  fall 
Brand-new  or  years  old,  she  loves  us  all. 
Rebecca  Deming  Moore. 


78 


LENTIL  ARITHMETIC 

ON  the  last  day  of  August,  Juanita  had 
fallen  and  hurt  her  knee,  so  that 
when  school  opened  she  was  unable 
to  walk. 

"When  I  go  back,"  she  mourned,  "they 
will  put  me  in  the  first  grade  again.  Bessie 
and  May  and  Gertrude  will  be  ahead  of  me." 

Mamma  tried  to  comfort  her.  "Perhaps 
you  can  catch  up,"  she  said. 

In  a  few  days  Aunt  Ruth  came  for  a  visit. 
Juanita  could  not  remember  her,  but  they 
were  friends  right  away,  and  auntie  heard 
about  the  little  girl's  trouble. 

"If  it  weren't  for  numbers,"  Juanita  said, 
"I  shouldn't  be  afraid;  but  I  can't  learn 
numbers.     I  get  all  mixed  up." 

Pretty  soon  Aunt  Ruth  brought  in  a  cup 
of  uncooked  lentils. 

"How  far  can  you  count.''"  she  asked. 

"Up  to  twenty." 

"Good!  After  you  have  played  with  these 
a  few  weeks,  perhaps  you  will  be  able  to 
count  to  one  hundred." 

74 


LENTILARITIIMETIC  75 

Juanita  sat  up  in  her  little  wheel-chair 
and  opened  her  eyes  wide.  "How  do  you 
play  with  lentils?"  she  questioned.  "I  never 
did." 

"I  have,"  said  Aunt  Ruth,  and  she  placed 
mamma's  light  lap-board  in  the  little  girl's 
lap,  and  began  arranging  the  lentils  in  rows. 
Then  she  asked  her  to  count  them. 

"One,"  Juanita  counted;  "one,  two;  one, 
two,  three;   one,  two,  three,  four." 

There  was  just  one  more  in  each  row,  as 
she  went  down  the  board.  The  last  row 
contained  twenty  of  the  little  flat  lentils. 

Then  Aunt  Ruth  taught  her  to  add  two 
lentils  to  one  lentil,  which  made  three,  and 
two  lentils  to  two  lentils,  which  made  four, 
and  so  on. 

When  she  was  tired  of  adding  lentils 
together,  the  big  board  was  turned  into  a 
schoolroom,  with  lentils  for  scholars.  The 
darkest  ones  were  the  boys,  the  green  ones 
the  big  girls,  and  the  little  pale  ones  were 
the  youngest  of  all.  She  and  Aunt  Ruth  had 
great  fun  with  the  lentil  school. 

In  a  few  days  Juanita  learned  how  to 
subtract  two  lentils  from  five  lentils,  and 
seven  lentils  from  twenty  lentils,  and  so  on. 


76  INPLAYLAND 

What  had  bothered  her  before  was  fast  becom- 
ing clear.  Then  after  she  had  learned  sub- 
traction, she  found  out  that  multiplication 
was  only  a  shorter  way  of  addition.  It  was 
so  very  easy  to  learn  it  with  the  lentils.  Later 
she  divided  six  lentils  into  three  groups  of 
two  lentils  each,  and  discovered  that  she  was 
dividing  six  by  two. 

"Why,  I  shall  get  ahead  of  Bessie  and 
May  and  Gertrude!"  she  cried,  gleefully. 
*'I  sha'n't  have  to  be  put  back  in  the  first 
grade!" 

And  when  Aunt  Ruth's  visit  came  to  an 
end,  Juanita  had  gone  in  numbers  so  far 
beyond  her  class  she  had  only  to  catch  up  in 
the  other  things  which  she  learned  easily. 

"But  numbers  are  easy  now,"  said  the 
little  girl,  "as  easy  as  spelling." 

Emma  C.  Dowd. 


A  WARNING 

T^     EMEMBER,  Susanna,  I'm  Dutch! 
1—^         They've  dressed  me  all  up  for  the 
JL  ^C/         fair. 
You  must  go,  for  I  love  you  so  much. 

But  take  care  how  you  speak  to  me  there! 
My  name  will  be  Gretchen  tonight, 

And  if  you're  afraid  you'll  forget, 
Keep  my  cap  and  my  apron  in  sight. 

They'll  help  you  remember,  my  pet. 

My  shoes,  as  it's  easy  to  see. 

Are  built  on  a  very  Dutch  plan, 
So  when  you  speak  English  to  me 

Just  whisper  as  low  as  you  can. 
You'll  be  good  at  the  fair,  dear,  I  know, 

Just  listen  and  look  and  not  touch; 
So  now  we're  quite  ready  to  go, 

And  remember,  Susanna,  I'm  Dutch! 

Hannah  G.  Fernald. 


77 


THE  QUARREL 

THE  Wooden  Dog  and  the  China  Cat 
Face  to  face  in  the  doll-house  sat, 
And  they  picked  a  quarrel  that  grew 
and  grew, 
Because  they  had  nothing  else  to  do. 
Said  the  dog,  "I  really  would  like  to  hear 
Why  you  never  stir  nor  frisk  nor  purr, 
But  sit  hke  a  mummy  there." 

Up  spoke  in  a  temper  the  china  puss. 
Glad  of  an  opening  for  a  fuss: 
*'Dear  Mr.  Puppy,  I  can't  recall 
That  I  ever  heard  you  bark  at  all. 
Your  bark  is  a  wooden  bark,  'tis  true, 
But  as  to  that,"  said  the  China  Cat, 
"My  mew  is  a  china  mew." 

So  they  bristled  and  quarreled,  more  and  more. 
Till  the  baby  came  creeping  across  the  floor. 
He  took  the  cat  by  his  whiskers  frail. 
He  grasped  the  dog  by  his  wooden  tail, 
And  banged  them  together  —  and  after  that 


78 


THEQUARREL  79 

Left  them,  a  wiser  Wooden  Dog 
And  a  sadder  China  Cat. 

Now,  children,  just  between  you  and  me, 
Don't   you    think    in    the   future    they    will 
agree? 

Nancy  Byrd  Turner. 


MY  PLAYMATES 

WHEN  Willie  comes  to  visit  me 
We  play  menagerie. 
He  says,  "Pretend  that  you're 
lamb, 
And  I'll  a  lion  be." 
Then  he  begins  to  growl  and  roar 

And  make  a  dreadful  noise. 
I  don't  mind  much  when  he  goes  home; 
It's  hard  to  play  with  boys. 

When  Julia  comes  to  visit  me 

I  am  her  waiting  maid. 
While  she's  a  lady,  grand  and  stern. 

Of  her  I'm  'most  afraid. 
She  sends  me  for  my  mother's  hat, 

Then  takes  her  nicest  skirt, 
And  trails  it  all  around  the  house 

Until  it's  full  of  dirt. 

When  Alice  comes  to  play  with  me 

She  asks,  "What  shall  we  play.^" 
I  answer,  "Anything  you  hke." 

80 


M  Y    P  L  A  Y  M  A  T  E  S  81 

She  coaxes,  "Do  please  say." 
Sometimes  it's  dolls,  sometimes  it's  games. 

No  matter  what  it  be, 
I  have  the  very  nicest  time 

When  AHce  plays  with  me. 

Rebecca  Deming  Moore. 


THE    PEOPLE    IN    THE    PINE-TREE 

HULLO  there,  Jimmy!"  cried  Robert, 
as  he  burst  into  Jimmy's  room. 
"Mamma  said  I  could  stay  a 
whole  hour,  'cause  we  thought  you'd  be  lone- 
some, having  to  stay  in  the  house  with  a 
sprained  ankle  on  such  a  nice  day." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!  I  was  just  wishing  I 
had  somebody  to  talk  to.  I  can't  even  see 
outdoors  much,  because  the  window's  so 
high  I  can't  see  anything  but  the  tops  of  the 
trees." 

Robert  gazed  out  of  the  window  at  the 
row  of  tall  pine-trees,  into  which  he  and 
Jimmy  had  often  climbed. 

"Look,  Jimmy!"  he  suddenly  exclaimed. 
"See  that  funny  man  up  there  in  the 
branches!" 

"A  man?"  asked  Jimmy,  starting  up  and 
almost  forgetting  the  lame  ankle,  in  his 
surprise. 

"Oh,  not  a  real  man,  just  a  man  out  of 
pine-needles!     See,  right  there!"  and  Robert 

82 


'^ 


THE    PEOPLE    IN    THE    PINE-TREE  83 

pointed  out  among  the  topmost  branches 
what  looked  Hke  a  man  with  his  arms  out- 
stretched. 

"Now  I  see  it,'*  cried  Jimmy.     "What  a 
big,  tall  hat  he  has,  and  what  a  funny,  long 


nose 


Both  boys  laughed. 

"Oh  Robert,  look  at  that  lady  over  there, 
just  opposite  the  man!"  exclaimed  Jimmy. 

"I  see,"  said  Robert,  after  a  moment. 
"Her  hair's  done  up  on  top  of  her  head,  just 
like  my  mother's.     Isn't  she  fine.'*" 

A  breeze  was  blowing  outside,  and  the 
pine-tree  rocked  back  and  forth. 

"They're  bowing!"  cried  Robert.  "They're 
bowing  to  each  other.     Aren't  they  polite?'* 

They  watched  the  lady  as  she  waved  her 
arms,  and  bowed  in  such  a  funny  way  that 
they  could  not  help  laughing.  Then  the  man 
made  a  bow  to  the  lady  again,  and  they  both 
began  to  dance. 

"Robert,"  said  Jimmy,  "please  give  me 
that  pencil  and  paper  on  the  table.  I'm  going 
to  try  to  draw  a  picture  of  them." 

Both  boys  tried,  and  it  was  great  fun, 
even  though,  as  Jimmy  said,  Robert's  man 
didn't  look  any  more  like  the  man  in  the 


IN    PLAY    LAND 


tree  than  Robert  himself  did,  and  Jimmy's 
lady  didn't  look  a  bit  like  the  tree  lady. 

Then  they  sat  and  watched  the  trees 
for  some  time,  picking  out  other  "people." 
Jimmy  found  a  baby,  and  Robert  found  a 
man  with  a  violin,  and  an  old  Mother  Goose 
riding  along  on  a  monster  gander. 

"Why!"  said  Robert  at  last,  looking  at 
the  clock,  "I've  stayed  an  hour  already. 
I'm  going  to  look  in  our  tree  when  I  get  home, 
and  see  who  lives  there." 

"And  now,"  said  Jimmy,  "I've  got  com- 
pany all  the  time,  haven't  I.''" 

Nettie  Joy  Allen. 


THE  STUDENTS 

I  SAY  to  Tommy  every  day, 
"Now  let  us  read  awhile," 
But  Tommy  doesn't  like  to  read, 
He'd  rather  be  a  prancing  steed, 
And  have  me  drive  him  many  a  mile. 
And  often  run  away. 

I  like  to  do  as  grown  folks  do. 
Our  house  is  full  of  books. 
My  sisters  gather  every  night 
About  the  cheery  study  light. 
I  often  think  how  wise  it  looks. 
And  wish  I  could  stay,  too. 

So  I  coax  Tommy  every  day 

To  read  a  little  while. 
I  know  my  M's  and  N's  and  P's 
And  everything,  'way  down  to  Z's. 
When  Tommy  reads  I  have  to  smile. 

For  Tommy  just  knows  A! 

Hannah  G.  Fernald. 


85 


THE  LITTLE  PRINCE 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  little 
prince  who  lived  in  a  very  beauti- 
ful palace.  The  little  prince  had 
everything  in  the  world  to  make  him  happy 
—  a  beautiful  queen  mother,  and  a  stable 
full  of  ponies,  and  two  or  three  automobiles, 
and,  oh,  such  a  wonderful  playroom  all  full 
of  toys! 

There  were  trains,  and  boats,  and  elec- 
tric toys,  and  hobby-horses,  and  books,  and 
blocks,  and  balls.  Why,  you  never  could  have 
counted  the  toys,  because  every  toy  that  had 
ever  been  made  was  in  the  playroom  of  the 
little  prince!  But  in  spite  of  all  this  the  little 
prince  was  not  happy. 

All  day  long  he  sat  on  a  silk  cushion  and 
would  not  play.  He  would  not  even  look  at 
the  beautiful  playthings.  The  queen  mother 
sent  for  the  court  physician,  and  the  physi- 
cian felt  of  the  little  prince's  pulse,  and  he 
looked  at  the  little  prince's  tongue.  Then 
he  shook  his  head  and  said: 

86 


THE    LITTLE    PRINCE 


87 


*'Your  majesty,  his  royal  highness  is  in  a 
very  bad  way  indeed.  He  is  in  want  of  a 
new  toy,  —  a  perfectly  new  toy." 

The  little  prince  nodded  his  head.  Yes, 
that  was  certainly  the  trouble.  He  needed 
something  new  to  play  with. 

The  court  messengers  were  immediately 
despatched  to  scour  the  country  for  a  per- 
fectly new  toy.  Now  this  was  a  most  difficult 
errand.  The  little  prince,  you  know,  had 
already  every  toy  that  had  ever  been  invented. 
The  messengers  traveled  far  and  wide,  but 
one  after  another  they  came  home,  empty- 
handed,  until  there  was  only  one  left  to 
search. 

One  morning  the  last  messenger  returned. 
He  had  brought  no  toy,  but  he  was  leading 
a  little  ragged  peasant  boy,  and  he  said  to 
the  queen  mother,  "Your  majesty,  there  is 
not  a  new  toy  in  the  world,  but  I  found  this 
peasant  child  playing  quite  happily  in  the 
woods,  and  he  had  strange  things  with  which 
to  play.     He  brings  them  in  his  pockets." 

So  the  peasant  boy  was  taken  into  the 
playroom  where  the  little  prince  sat,  so  ill, 
because  he  could  think  of  nothing  to  do. 
The  peasant  boy  looked  around  him  at  the 


88  INPLAYLAND 

wonderful  toys,  and  then  he  went  up  to  the 
little  prince. 

"Should  you  like  to  see  my  soldiers,  your 
highness?"  he  said. 

Then  he  pulled  from  his  pocket  some  pretty, 
brown,  shiny  pine-cones,  and  he  stood  them 
up  in  a  row  on  the  floor  like  so  many  soldiers. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "we  will  shoot  them  all 
down." 

So  he  took  from  another  pocket  a  big  red 
apple,  and  he  rolled  it  at  the  soldiers.  Bang! 
down  they  all  went.     The  little  prince  jumped 

up.^ 

"Oh,  let  me  play  with  you!"  he  cried. 

"Have  you  any  spools  or  any  sticks.''" 
said  the  peasant  boy.  "We  will  build  a  fort 
for  the  soldiers." 

The  queen  mother  fetched  all  the  spools 
from  her  sewing-room,  while  the  court  phy- 
sician and  all  the  courtiers  cried,  "The  little 
prince  is  well!     Knight  the  peasant  boy!" 

So  they  made  the  peasant  boy  a  knight, 
and  he  and  the  little  prince  took  all  the 
beautiful  toys  down  to  the  village  and  gave 
them  to  the  other  peasant  children  who  had 
no  toys. 

Then  they  went  home  to  the  palace,  and 


THE    LITTLE     PRINCE 


89 


they  played  happily  together  all  the  rest  of 
their  boyhood  days  with  quite  ordinary 
things,  like  spools,  and  cones,  and  sticks, 
and  shiny  pebbles,  which  are  so  much  nicer 
than  a  great  many  toys. 

Carolyn  Sherwin  Bailey. 


c 


THE  BALL 

LOSE  cuddled  in  my  own  two  hands. 
My    big    round    ball    with    yellow 
bands ! 


They've  filled  my  playroom  up  with  toys  — 

Dolls,  horses,  things  to  make  a  noise, 

Engines  that  clatter  on  a  track, 

And  tip-carts  that  let  down  the  back. 

Arks,   just  like  Noah's,  with  two  and  two 

Of  every  animal  he  knew, 

Whole  rows  of  houses  built  of  blocks, 

A  mouse  that  squeaks,  a  doll  that  talks; 

But  when  the  Sleepy  Man  comes  by. 

And  I'm  too  tired  to  want  to  try 

To  think  of  anything  at  all. 

Here's  my  old,  dear  old,  rubber  ball. 

Close  cuddled  in  my  own  two  hands. 
My  big  round  ball  with  yellow  bands! 

Anna  Burnham  Bryant. 


90 


THE  DICTIONARY'S  SONS 

AUNT  RUTH,  we  want  a  new  game. 
Have  you  one  for  us?  "  Alice  smiled 
coaxingly  up  into  her  aunt's  face. 

"Lessons  all  ready  for  tomorrow?"  asked 
Aunt  Ruth. 

"Ours  are,"  answered  Carl.  "Poor  Nor- 
ton is  still  at  his  spelling  and  definitions. 
It  is  *  reason'  and  'season'  and  all  those; 
but  I  guess  he'll  have  them  by  the  time  we 
get  down -stairs." 

"You  may  call  him  now.  I  have  a  game 
that  will  help  him  to  remember." 

Off  raced  the  trio  in  great  glee,  while  Aunt 
Ruth  fullowed  more  slowly. 

"Do  you  know  how  many  sons  the  dic- 
tionary has?"  questioned  x\unt  Ruth  when 
they  were  all  seated. 

"How  many  sons?"  echoed  Carl,  puckering 
up  his  forehead. 

"Yes.  You  gave  two,  rea-son  and  sea-son. 
Who  can  think  of  another?  Give  only  the 
definition  —  not  the  word." 

91 


92  INPLAYLAND 

"Oh!"  they  chorused. 

"Why,  that'll  be  our  lesson!"  cried  Alice. 
"Norton's  and  mine." 

"So  much  the  better.  That  is  why  I  chose 
the  sons  for  tonight,"  smiled  Aunt  Ruth. 

"There's  a  son  that's  a  preacher,"  said 
Ahce. 

"Can  anybody  guess?"  asked  Bertha. 

Her  aunt  nodded.     "That  is  parson." 

"I  know  a  colored  son,"  said  Carl. 

"  Crimson ! "  cried  Alice.     "  Oh,  this  is  f un ! " 

"I've  just  been  learning  a  mean  kind  of 
son,"  said  Norton,  "one  that  isn't  loyal." 

"That  is  treason,"  said  Alice. 

"Which  son  guards  a  fort.'^"  asked  Aunt 
Ruth. 

For  a  minute  nobody  could  guess.  Then 
Carl  shouted,  "Garrison!" 

"There  is  a  son  that  each  one  of  us  could 
answer  to,"  said  Aunt  Ruth. 

This  seemed  too  hard. 

"I  will  make  it  plainer.  I  mean  a  son  that 
is  simply  a  human  being." 

"Oh,  a  person!"  exclaimed  Bertha. 

"I  know  a  son  that  builds  houses,"  said 
Norton. 

"Mason,"  guessed  Bertha. 


THE    dictionary's    SONS  93 

"A  son  that  gathers  in  wicked  folks,"  cried 
Carl. 

They  scowled  over  this  —  all  but  Aunt 
Ruth.     Finally  she  had  to  give  it,  "Prison." 

"One  son  we  eat,"  said  she. 

Alice  guessed,  "Damson." 

"There's  one  dreadful  son,"  said  Norton. 

This  was  left  for  Aunt  Ruth  —  poison. 

"There  is  another  son  we  eat,  which  comes 
from  the  Adirondacks,"  said  Aunt  Ruth. 

None  of  the  children  could  guess  that,  until 
their  aunt  said,  "We  had  it  for  dinner  a  week 
ago." 

"Oh,  venison!"  shouted  Carl. 

"There  are  a  good  many  sons  that  are  not 
in  our  lesson,"  said  Alice,  and  then  she  giggled. 
"There  are  plenty  of  one  kind  of  sons  in 
school,"  she  added  gleefully. 

"Lessons,"  laughed  Bertha. 

"It  is  so  near  bedtime,"  said  Aunt  Ruth, 
"I  think  I  shall  have  to  give  you  my  son  that 
is  a  blessing." 

For  several  minutes  they  thought  hard. 

Then  Bertha  said  softly,  "Benison." 

Emma  C.  Dowd. 


POOR  OLD  BOOKS 

THE  poor  old  books  that  nobody  reads. 
How  lonely  their  days  must  be! 
They  stand  up   high   on   the   dusty 
shelves, 
Waiting  and  wishing,  beside  themselves,  — 

And  nobody  cares  but  me. 
They  have  no  pictures,  they  are  no  good. 
But  I'd  read  them  through,  if  I  only  could. 

The  poor  old  books!    They  are  fat  and  dull, 

Their  covers  are  dark  and  queer; 
But  every  time  I  push  the  door, 
And  patter  across  the  library  floor. 

They  seem  to  cry,  "Here,  oh  here!" 
And  I  feel  so  sad  for  their  lonely  looks 
That  I  hate  to  take  down  my  picture-books. 

The  nice  new  books  on  the  lower  shelves 

Are  giddy  in  gold  and  red; 
And  they  are  happy  and  proud  and  gay. 
For  somebody  reads  in  them  every  day. 

And  carries  them  up  to  bed. 
But  when  I  am  big  I'm  going  to  read 
The  books  that  nobody  else  will  heed. 

Abbie  Farwell  Brown. 

94 


T 


TOYS 

OYS  have  a  bedtime,  too. 
Oh,  but  it's  really  true! 
This  is  what  you  should  do,  — 


Just  as  the  sun  sinks  low. 
Off  to  bed  make  them  go, 
Laid  in  a  tidy  row. 

There  let  them  rest  all  night, 

Sleep  until  morning  light. 

Then  wake  when  day  shines  bright. 

Alice  Van  Leer  Carrick. 


95 


I 


THE  BATH 

T  always  has  seemed  queer  to  me, 
When  I  give  Bess  a  bath 
In  our  big,  shiny,  new,  white  tub, 
She  shorter  grows  by  half. 


But  when  I  take  her  out  again 

She  hasn't  changed  at  all. 
If  you  have  doubts  of  what  I  say. 

Just  try  it  with  your  doll! 

Rebecca  Deming  Moore. 


96 


TANGLES 

THE  little  cousin  had  long  golden-brown 
curls  that  were  pretty  to  look  at  but 
dreadful  to  comb,  for  they  would 
get  so  full  of  tangles,  in  spite  of  all  that  she 
could  do.  Every  morning  when  the  tangles 
had  to  be  combed  out,  it  seemed  to  the  little 
cousin  as  though  all  of  the  hair  would  surely 
be  pulled  out,  although  her  mother  tried  to 
be  very  careful. 

One  day,  just  as  it  was  time  for  the  curls 
to  be  attended  to,  the  big  cousin  came  in. 
The  little  cousin  thought  that  there  was  no 
one  quite  so  nice  as  the  big  cousin,  so  when  she 
said,  "Oh,  let  me  brush  the  curls  today!" 
the  little  girl  was  quite  willing. 

So  the  big  cousin  drew  off  her  gloves  and 
took  off  her  hat  and  sat  down  in  the  chair 
by  the  window  and  began  brushing  the  long 
brown  hair. 

Presently  she  cried,  "Oh,  what  a  big 
tangle!  We'll  call  him  the  grandfather  and 
we    must    banish    him    right    away.     There, 

97 


98  INPLAYLAND 

now,  he  is  gone  and  we  must  see  if  we  can 
find  the  grandmother." 

The  next  tangle  was  a  tiny  one,  which  they 
decided  must  be  the  baby.  Then  they  found 
the  father  and  the  mother  and  some  brothers 
and  sisters  and  cousins,  and  in  a  little  while 
the  big  real  cousin  said,  "There!  The  last 
one  of  the  tangle  family  is  banished!" 

"Why,  are  you  through?"  cried  the  little 
cousin.  "It  didn't  hurt  a  bit  this  time, 
because  it  was  all  a  play  and  was  just  fun." 

After  that  the  little  cousin  and  her  mother 
played  at  banishing  the  tangle  family  every 
day  until  she  was  old  enough  to  brush  her 
own  hair,  and  then  she  told  the  story  to  other 
little  girls  who  had  curls  and  tangles,  and  they 
always  did  just  what  she  had  done  —  they 
grew  so  much  interested  in  the  tangle  family 
that  they  forgot  how  badly  the  real  tangles 
hurt. 

Louise  M.  Oglevee. 


THE  DREAM  SHIP 

THE  four  children  were  going  to  bed  — 
not  that  they  wanted  to  go,  for 
somehow,  no  matter  how  sleepy  they 
were,  they  never  were  ready  to  go  when  the 
hands  of  the  old  grandfather  clock  pointed 
to  the  bedtime  hour. 

Now,  to  help  nurse  have  less  trouble  with 
the  three  younger  children,  Alice,  the  oldest 
of  the  four,  used  to  make  up  stories  and  games 
which  made  going  to  bed  seem  real  fun. 

On  this  evening  they  thought  the  bedtime 
hour  came  far  too  soon. 

"Grandfather  Clock  is  just  mean!*'  said 
Mildred.  "He  hurried  his  hands  around  as 
fast  as  he  could  so  as  to  make  us  go  to  bed 
sooner." 

"Bad  old  Grandfather  Clock!"  said 
Tommy. 

"Naughty  old  Grandpa  Clock!"  said  little 
May. 

Alice  heard  mother  call  them  and  saw  that 
nurse  was  coming.     She  saw,  too,  that  Tommy 

99 


100  IN    PLAY    LAND 

was  getting  ready  to  cry,  and  knew  that  if 
he  cried  the  others  would.  So  she  quickly 
whispered  something  to  the  three  little  ones, 
and  instead  of  crying  they  began  to  laugh, 
and  went  with  Alice  and  nurse  without  a 
word.  Mother  and  father  wondered  what 
made  them  go  so  gladly,  for  they,  too,  had 
seen  the  tears  ready  to  fall. 

They  were  still  wondering  when,  a  few 
minutes  later,  down  the  stairs  came  the 
children  to  say  good  night,  the  three  little 
ones  all  ready  for  bed. 

"Why,  what  is  this?"  asked  father,  as  he 
saw  a  bag  in  each  child's  hand. 

"We  are  going  sailing  with  Grandfather 
Clock,"  said  Mildred.     "Alice  says  so." 

"Yes,"  said  Tommy,  "in  the  ship  that 
sails  and  sails  and  never  stops,"  and  he 
pointed  to  the  clock. 

There,  at  the  top  of  Grandfather  Clock's 
face,  was  a  painted  ship  on  a  painted  sea, 
and  when  the  pendulum  ticked  one  way  the 
ship  sailed  one  way,  and  when  the  pendulum 
ticked  the  other  way  the  ship  sailed  back 
again. 

"Doin'  a-sailin',"  said  little  May. 

"This  is  our  baggage,"  said  Tommy. 


THE    DREAM    SHIP  101 

Alice  had  made  a  little  bag  for  each  child 
out  of  a  handkerchief,  by  taking  up  the  four 
corners  and  putting  a  rubber  strap  over  to 
hold  them  together.  In  Mildred's  bag  was 
a  small  doll,  in  Tommy's  a  top,  in  little  May's 
a  rubber  ball,  and  in  her  own  jackstones. 

"The  ship  takes  us  as  soon  as  we  get  to 
sleep,"  said  Mildred. 

They  said  good  night  and  ran  to  bed. 

Long  after  they  were  gone  old  Grandfather 
Clock  out  in  the  hall  said,  "Tick-tick,  tick- 
tick!"  and  at  the  top  of  his  face  there  sailed 
and  sailed  without  stopping  a  painted  ship 
on  a  painted  sea. 

Blanche  Elizabeth  Wade. 


THE  APPLE  FAMILY 

HERE  is  the  apple  family. 
They're  just  as  jolly  as  can  be. 
First  comes  the  father  of  the  brood. 
He's  always  in  a  merry  mood. 
He  wears  a  coat  of  shiny  green, 
Where  pin-pricked  buttons  may  be  seen. 

Now  Mother  Apple  is  more  fair. 
She  boasts  of  golden,  corn-silk  hair. 
Her  dress  is  made  of  maple  leaves, 
A  sash  it  has  and  flowing  sleeves. 
The  oldest  of  the  jolly  crew 
Has  rosy  cheeks.     Her  name  is  Sue. 

She  also  has  long  corn-silk  hair 
And  on  her  face  a  steadfast  stare. 
That  apple  dollies  love  bright  green 
From  Susie's  dress  may  well  be  seen. 
The  next  in  order  come  the  twins, 
Alike  as  any  pair  of  pins. 

Each  has  a  sturdy  pair  of  legs  — 
In  fact,  they  are  just  wooden  pegs. 

102 


THE    APPLE    FAMILY  103 

Their  names  are  Benjamin  and  Frank. 
Foremost  they  are  in  every  prank. 
And  if  they  lose  a  leg  or  arm, 
It  doesn't  do  the  shghtest  harm. 

There  is  an  apple  baby  wee, 

A  roly-poly  boy  is  he. 

You  couldn't  make  this  baby  cry 

However  long  and  hard  you'd  try. 

The  apple  family's  hard  to  beat  — 

In  fact,  they're  good  enough  to  eat! 

Rebecca  Deming  Moore. 


THE  TEDDY  BEAR'S  SURPRISE 

THE  old  Teddy  was  quite  sure  that 
it  was  his  last  night.  Tomorrow 
would  be  the  baby's  birthday,  and 
the  new  toys  had  come.  There  they  all 
stood  in  the  nursery,  waiting  for  the  baby  to 
wake  up  and  find  out  that  he  was  four  years 
old  instead  of  three. 

The  grandmother  had  sent  a  box  of  red 
and  green  wooden  soldiers,  and  the  grand- 
father had  sent  a  large  blue  automobile. 
The  uncle  had  sent  a  very  fine  Noah's  ark 
full  of  animals.  The  two  elderly  aunts  had 
sent  wool  mittens  and  a  tippet,  and  the  young, 
pretty  aunt  had  sent  a  little  silver  loving- 
cup. 

And  there  stood  the  new  Teddy  in  the 
middle  of  the  nursery  table.  He  was  snow- 
white  from  his  toes  to  his  ears,  and  he  wore 
a  large  blue  bow.  You  never  did  see  such  a 
spandy  Teddy! 

The  old  Teddy  was  poked  off  in  a  corner 
where  he  would  not  be  seen.     He  was  not 

104 


THE    TEDDY    BEAR's    SURPRISE  105 

pretty  any  longer.  He  had  walked  along 
dusty  roads  with  the  baby,  and  helped  him 
to  make  mud  pies.  He  had  stayed  out  in 
the  garden  rainy  nights.  He  had  been  used 
for  Indian  fights,  and  his  stuffing  was  gone 
in  spots,  and  one  ear  would  not  stand  up. 

Of  course  it  was  his  last  night.  In  the 
morning  they  would  probably  put  him  in 
the  rag-bag.     Poor  old  Teddy! 

Well,  the  baby  woke  up  in  the  morning, 
and  had  his  birthday.  He  stood  the  soldiers 
in  a  row,  and  then  he  pulled  a  wheel  from  the 
automobile.  He  had  his  milk  from  the  loving- 
cup,  and  he  tried  on  his  mittens,  and  he  lost 
nearly  all  the  Noah's  ark  animals.  Then  he 
looked  at  the  new  Teddy,  and  he  began  to 
cry. 

"I  want  my  old  Teddy,"  the  baby  cried, 
"my  dear  old  Teddy!" 

They  brought  him  the  old  Teddy,  and  he 
hugged  it,  and  he  played  with  it  all  day  long, 
just  as  he  had  before. 

Wasn't  that  a  fine  surprise  for  the  old 
Teddy? 

Carolyn  Sherwin  Bailey. 


THE  RAINY  DAY 

WHEN  Margaret  is  home  from  school 
It's,  "Oh,  what  shall  I  do? 
I've   dressed  my  dolls,  played  all 
the  games. 
And  read  my  books  quite  through"  — 
When  Margaret's  home  from  school. 

When  Kitty's  home  from  school,  she  says, 

*'I  love  a  rainy  day. 

My  dollies  need  such  heaps  of  things 

I've  hardly  time  to  play "  — 

When  Kitty's  home  from  school. 

Rebecca  Deming  Moore. 


106 


^ 


THE  GAME  OF  GOING-TO-BED 


S 


AYS    father,   when    the   lamps   are   lit, 
"Now  just  five  minutes  you  may  sit 
Down-stairs,  and  then  aw\ay  you  go 
To  play  a  little  game  I  know!" 


He  gives  a  kiss  and  pulls  a  curl. 
"Let's  play  you  are  my  little  girl. 
And  play  you  jump  up  on  my  back, 
And  play  we  run."     And  clackity-clack. 

We  both  go  laughing  up  the  stair! 
(If  I  should  fuss  he'd  say,  "No  fair!") 
And  then  he  says,  "'Night,  sleepy-head!' 
It's  fun  —  the  game  of  going-to-bed. 

Anna  Burnham  Bryant. 


107 


Outdoors  on  Pleasant  Days 


THE  PLAYFELLOW  WIND 

HE'S  down  on  the  earth  with  a  puff 
and  a  skim 
From  out  of  the  blue, 
A-calHng  the  children  to  frolic  with  him. 
Hear!  woo-oo-oo-woo ! 

He's  clearing  the  wood  and  is  crossing  the 
field, 

For  a  game,  now,  I  know  — 
The  kind  that  is  romping  and  merry  and  mad. 

Oh!  wo-o-o-owl 

He'll  pelt  you  with  posies  from  out  of  the  trees, 

And  when  he  is  through 
Sweet  petals  will  crumple  beneath  your  bare 
toes, 

Ah!  woo-oo-oo-woo! 

And  into  the  hammock  you'll  tumble,  you  two, 
A-swinging  to  go, 

111 


112  IN    PLAY    LAND 

From  green  bough  to  green  bough,  and  touch 
as  you  fly, 
Oh!  wo-o-o-wo! 

He'll  tag  you  ten  thousand  times  round  and 
around, 
And  race  with  you  too, 
But  a  tag  you'll  not  get  and  a  race  you'll  not 
win. 
Hark!  woo-oo-oo-woo ! 

Elizabeth  Thornton  Turner. 


T 


THE  LADY  MOON 

HERE'S  a  lady  in  the  moon, 
With  a  floating  gown  of  white; 
You  can  see  her  very  soon, 
When  mamma  turns  out  the  Kght. 


'Tis  a  lady  and  she  smiles 

Through  my  narrow  window  way, 
As  she  sails  on  miles  and  miles, 

Making  night  as  fair  as  day. 

Alice  Turner  Curtis. 


113 


THE  JOURNEY 

WHITHER  away  shall  the  baby  ride? 
How  many  miles  shall  he  fare? 
Under  the  trees  whose  arms  spread 
wide, 
Out  to  the  meadow  there. 

Down  by  the  brook  that  flows  rippling  by, 

Bordered  by  moss  and  fern. 
From  flower  and  bird  and  tree  and  sky 

How  many  things  shall  he  learn? 

Baby'U  journey  all  safe  and  sound 

Out  in  the  world  of  green, 
Traveling  over  the  grassy  ground, 

Where  wild  flowers  are  seen. 

Leaves  will  whisper  and  birds  will  trill, 
And  all  things  display  their  charms. 

And,  when  he's  journeyed  as  far  as  he  will. 
He'll  ride  back  to  mother's  arms. 

Then,  though  he  thought  the  green  world  good, 

He'll  gladly  come  back  to  rest. 
And  will  drowsily  feel,  as  a  baby  should. 

That  mother's  arms  are  the  best. 

Annie  Willis  McCullough. 

114 


DAFFYDOWNDILLY 

THERE  was  once  a  small  Daffydown- 
dilly  lady,  and  she  lived  in  a  little 
house  down  under  the  ground,  and 
she  was  fast,  fast  asleep. 

After  a  while  the  spring  came.  The  brook 
began  to  sing  softly  on  top  of  DafFydown- 
dilly's  house.  A  bluebird  twittered,  and  the 
grasses  opened  their  little  doors  and  windows 
and  pushed  out  their  little  pointed  heads. 
But  Daffydowndilly  would  not  wake  up. 

Rap-tap,  rap-tap-tap ! 

"Who  is  there.''"  asked  Daffydowndilly,  in 
a  sleepy  little  voice. 

"It  is  I  —  the  rain!"  said  a  tiny,  tiny  voice. 
*' Please  may  I  come  in?" 

"No,  no,"  said  Daffydowndilly,  "I  am 
very  much  too  sleepy." 

Rustle,  rustle,  rustle! 

"Now  w^ho  may  that  be?"  asked  Daffy- 
downdilly, in  a  very  sleepy  way. 

"It  is  I  —  the  sunshine,"  said  a  gay  little 
voice.     "Please  may  I  come  in?" 

115 


116  IN    PLAY    LAND 

"No,  no,  noT*  said  Daffydowndilly.  *'I 
am  not  up  yet.'* 

Then  she  went  to  sleep  again,  but  she  had 
not  dreamed  long  when  she  heard  —  Rap,  tap, 
tap!     Rap,  tap,  tap! 

*'Who  is  it  now?''  asked  Daffydowndilly, 
in  a  very,  very  sleepy  way. 

*'It  is  the  children.  Here  we  are!"  cried 
a  chorus  of  merry  voices.  ^'Please  wake  up. 
We  want  to  see  you." 

"Well,"  said  Daffydowndilly,  "if  the  chil- 
dren have  come,  I  suppose  I  really  should 
get  up." 

She  opened  her  small  doors  and  windows, 
so  the  rain  and  the  sunshine  could  come 
trooping  in.  Then  she  put  on  her  best 
ruffled  yellow  petticoat,  and  she  went  up  to 
the  garden  and  stood  very  tall  and  straight 
and  sweet  for  the  children  to  see. 

Carolyn  Sherwin  Bailey. 


THE  PINEWOOD  PEOPLE 

WHEN  winds   are   noisy-winged   and 
high. 
And  crystal-clear  the  day, 
Down  where  the  forest  meets  the  sky 
The  Pinewood  People  play. 

Far  off  I  see  them  bow,  advance. 

Swing  partners  and  retreat, 
As  though  some  slow,  old-fashioned  dance 

Had  claimed  their  tripping  feet. 

Or  hand  to  hand  they  wave,  and  so, 

With  dip  and  bend  and  swing. 
Through  "tag"  and  "hide"  and  "touch  and 
go 

They  flutter,  frolicking. 

But  when  I  run  to  join  the  play, 

I  find  my  search  is  vain. 
Always  they  see  me  on  the  way, 

And  change  to  pines  again. 

Elizabeth  Thornton  Turner. 

117 


JOCKO 

TCE  organ-grinder  seems  to  know 
We  children  all  love  Jocko  so. 
He  comes,  and  comes,  and  comes  again. 
His  funny  English  is  not  plain. 
He  answers,  "Yes,"  to  all  we  say, 
And  he  lets  Jocko  play. 

He  rests  beside  the  garden  gate, 
The  silent  organ  seems  to  wait. 
And  Jocko  finds  the  pennies  where 
We  hide  them  with  the  greatest  care, 
And  he  finds  cake  and  candy,  too,  — 
He  knows  just  what  to  do. 

I  used  to  want  to  be  a  king, 
But  now  I  know  a  nicer  thing. 
I've  told  the  organ-grinder,  too. 
Exactly  what  I  mean  to  do. 
If  I  can  have,  when  I  am  grown, 
A  Jocko  of  my  own. 

118 


JOCKO  119 

Then  I  shall  wander,  day  by  day, 
Where  merry  little  children  play, 
And  hear  them  shout  as  I  appear, 
"Oh,  come!  the  organ-grinder's  here!" 
And  when  they  all  crowd  round  to  see, 
How  happy  I  shall  be! 

Hannah  G.  Fernald. 


GRANDMOTHER'S  SPECTACLES 

ONE  day,  very  early  in  the  morning, 
grandmother  lost  her  spectacles. 
They  were  not  in  her  work-bag,  or 
under  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece,  or  in  the 
darning  basket,  or  in  the  chintz  wall  pocket, 
or  in  any  of  the  usual  places. 

Bobby  looked  everywhere  for  the  spec- 
tacles, and  then  he  set  about  trying  to  help 
grandmother.  Of  course  she  could  not  read 
the  paper,  so  directly  after  breakfast  Bobby 
sat  down  on  the  cricket  by  grandmother's 
arm  chair,  and  he  spelled  all  the  big  word 
headings  in  the  paper  for  her,  even  if  he 
could  hear  the  boys  whistHng  outside  for  him 
to  come  and  play. 

Then  he  threaded  a  great  many  needles  for 
her,  so  they  would  be  ready  if  she  wanted 
them,  and  he  stuck  them  neatly  in  her  pin- 
cushion. She  could  not  see  to  arrange  her 
room,  so  Bobby  dusted  the  mahogany  tables 
and  all  the  chairs.  He  gathered  up  the 
scraps  on  the  floor,  playing  that  he  was  a 

120 


grandmother's    spectacles      121 

wild  beast  hunter,  which  made  it  ever  so 
much  easier.  First  he  would  crouch  down 
and  aim  his  toy  gun  at  a  scrap.  Then  he 
would  pounce  upon  it  and  put  it  in  the 
waste-basket.  Some  of  the  scraps  he  called 
tigers  and  some  lions,  but  most  of  them  were 
bears. 

By  the  time  grandmother's  room  was  neat 
and  tidy  the  sun  was  shining  as  bright  as 
gold  in  the  garden.  Grandmother  wanted  to 
go  out  for  a  walk,  but  she  could  not  see  very 
well  to  go  alone.  Bobby  said  he  would  go 
with  her,  so  he  took  her  hand  and  led  her 
carefully  up  and  down  the  paths,  telling  her 
about  things  all  the  way. 

"O  grandmother  dear!  There's  a  double 
buttercup  come  up  in  the  very  place  where 
it  was  last  year.  I  was  'most  afraid  that  it 
might  forget,  and  come  up  single. 

"There's  a  bluebird's  nest  in  the  box  on 
the  gate-post.  The  mother  bird  doesn't  know 
that  I  have  seen  her  little  ones,  but  when  she 
was  away  I  just  peeped  at  them  once  or  twice. 

"There's  such  a  wide  blue  sky.  Can  you 
see  it  without  your  spectacles,  grandmother.? 
It  looks  like  the  biggest  blue  bowl  in  the 
world." 


122  IN     PLAY     LAND 

Presently  they  went  in  for  lunch,  and  then 
in  another  little  while  it  was  bedtime,  and 
Bobby  sat  in  grandmother's  lap  begging  for 
a  story. 

"Once  upon  a  time,"  began  grandmother, 
"there  was  a  very  nice  little  boy.  Some  peo- 
ple called  him  Bobby,  but  that  was  not  his 
real  name.     What  do  you  suppose  it  was?" 

"Buster,"  said  Bobby  promptly,  because 
that  was  what  his  father  called  him. 

"No,"  said  grandmother.     "Try  again." 

"Honey  bunch,"  said  Bobby,  because  his 
aunts  called  him  that. 

"No,"  said  grandmother. 

"Little  man,  Robert,  Precious,  Junior." 
Bobby  rattled  off  his  names  very  fast. 

"No,"  said  grandmother.  "I  am  afraid 
that  I  shall  have  to  tell  you,  Bobby." 

Then  she  whispered  something  in  Bobby's 
ear,  and  it  pleased  him  so  that  he  laughed  and 
laughed  and  laughed.  This  was  his  name  — 
"Grandmother's  Spectacles." 

Carolyn  Sherwin  Bailey. 


OUR  LITTLE  BROOK 

OUR  little  brook  just  sings  and  sings 
In  such  a  happy  way, 
I'd  love  to  sit  beside  it 
And  listen  all  the  day. 

In  spring  it  has  a  merry  sound, 

I  know  the  reason  why  — 
Because  the  ice  has  gone  and  now 

The  brook  can  see  the  sky. 

It  loves  to  glisten  in  the  sun 

And  sparkle  in  its  light. 
I'm  sure  it  loves  the  silvery  moon 

And  sings  to  it  at  night. 

The  summer  song  is  not  so  gay. 

The  brook  is  now  quite  still, 
With  here  and  there  a  darling  song 

Sung  by  a  tiny  rill. 

I  love  to  watch  the  bubbles  float, 

I  wonder  where  they  go, 
I  see  the  little  "skaters" 

All  darting  to  and  fro. 

123 


124  IN     PLAY     LAND 

When  leaves  are  falling  from  the  trees 

As  fast  as  they  can  fall, 
I  love  to  sail  them  in  the  brook  — 

Though  there's  not  room  for  all. 

They  sail  like  little  fairy  boats 

And  start  out  merrily, 
But  sometimes  find  a  stopping  place 

Before  they  reach  the  sea. 

The  winter  brook  is  soon  with  ice 

All  covered  up  with  care. 
But  I  can  hear  a  tiny  voice, 

I  know  the  brook  is  there! 

Edith  Dunham. 


BARBARA 

SHE  fluttered  down  the  garden  walk, 
She  bent  above  the  blossom's  rim  — 
A  little  space,  her  eager  face 
Tip-tilted  on  the  brim. 

"O  lotus-flower,  lovely  flower! 

You  came  from  over  distant  seas; 
I'm  creeping  very  near  to  hear,  — 

Tell  me  about  it,  please. 

"Have  you  a  single  thing  to  say 
Of  all  that  wondrous  Egypt-land? 

I'm  stooping  low,  —  then  say  it  slow 
That  I  may  understand." 

The  lotus  trembled  through  and  through. 

Till  every  creamy,  folded  bud 
Awaked  and  heard  the  flower-word 

They  only  understood: 

"O  lotus  children,  children  dear! 

Open  your  eyes  and  look  and  see 
The  new,  rare  flower,  the  sweet,  fair  flower 

That's  bending  over  me!" 

Nancy  Byrd  Turner. 

125 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  LITTLE 
CROOKED  TREE 

THERE  was  once  a  little  crooked  tree 
that  grew  in  a  wood  with  a  great 
many  other  trees,  all  tall  and  straight 
and  beautiful.  Nobody  knew  how  it  came 
to  be  so  very  crooked,  with  a  queer  little 
gnarled  trunk,  and  funny  twisted  branches, 
and  even  its  twigs  all  bent  out  of  shape. 
Perhaps  it  was  stepped  upon  when  it  was 
just  starting  to  grow,  or  perhaps  some  one 
tried  to  break  it  and  left  it  all  hurt  and 
wounded. 

However  it  happened,  there  it  stood,  a 
very  ugly  little  tree,  and  the  worst  of  it  was 
that  the  little  tree  knew  about  its  crookedness 
and  was  ashamed  inside. 

The  other  trees  in  the  wood  should  have 
tried  to  spare  its  feelings,  but  they  never 
did  at  all.  From  morning  until  night  they 
rustled  and  talked  together  of  the  wonderful 
things  they  could  do. 

"We  build  the  ships,"  said  the  great  oaks. 

126 


STORY    OF    TUE    LITTLE    CROOKED    TREE     127 

"We  are  made  into  rafters  and  beams  for 
houses,"  said  the  pines. 

"We  sparkle  and  dance  in  the  children's 
fireplaces,"  said  the  hemlocks. 

"We  hold  the  Christmas  gifts,"  said  the 
firs. 

And  the  little  crooked  tree  said  nothing  at 
all,  for  there  really  was  nothing  it  could  do. 
It  only  dropped  its  head  and  squeezed  out 
some  large  sappy  tears  that  hardened  on  the 
ends  of  its  twigs  and  made  it  look  uglier  than 
ever. 

After  a  while  the  oaks  were  cut  down  and 
taken  away  to  the  sea  and  the  pines  went  to 
the  sawmill.  The  hemlocks  burned  in  the 
Christmas  fires  and  the  firs  bore  the  Christ- 
mas toys.  And  after  all  that  was  over, 
spring  came  to  the  wood. 

Then  the  young  trees  hung  up  beautiful 
green  curtains  and  the  violets  bloomed  and 
everything  was  very  lovely  and  new.  But 
ah,  the  little  crooked  tree!  It  tried  and  tried 
to  send  out  some  leaves,  but  it  just  could  not. 
Its  little  crooked  trunk  bent  down  lower  and 
lower,  and  it  wished  it  could  die  because  it 
was  so  ashamed. 

It  really  looked  as  if  it  were  dead  when  the 


128  IN     PLAY     LAND 

Angel  came  through  the  wood  —  the  Angel 
that  walks  in  the  spring.  She  stopped  to  put 
her  hand  on  its  branches  and  she  stopped  to 
put  her  ear  to  its  trunk. 

*'I  hear  the  sap  running,'*  said  the  Angel. 
"Poor  little  patient  tree!     Just  wait  a  bit." 

So  the  little  crooked  tree  waited,  and  be- 
fore it  knew  it  Easter  came,  and  all  the  chil- 
dren, to  gather  flowers  in  the  wood.  Such 
a  merry  troop,  laughing  and  shouting!  But 
they  stopped  all  at  once. 

"Look!"  they  cried.  "Was  ever  anything 
so  beautiful!" 

Something  had  happened  to  the  little 
crooked  tree  and  it  had  not  noticed  at  all. 
From  top  to  root  it  was  covered  with,  oh, 
such  beautiful  pink  flowers,  and  its  crooked- 
ness did  not  show  any  more ! 

Perhaps  the  Angel  did  it.  The  little  tree 
never  knew.  Perhaps  it  was  because  crooked 
things  always  grow  pretty  if  you  wait  long 
enough.  But  the  children  carefully  cut  its 
beautiful  branches  and  twined  them  about 
the  great  pillars  in  the  church,  and  there  was 
not  anybody  so  happy  at  Easter  as  the  little 
crooked  tree  that  had  blossomed  in  pink. 

Carolyn  Sherwin  Bailey. 


THE  STAR 

WHEN  mother  shuts  the  nursery  door 
And  takes  away  the  Hght, 
She  gently  kisses  me  once  more 
And  says  again,  "Good  night," 
And  Hfts  the  curtain  till  I  see 
The  lamp  God  lighted  up  for  me. 

My  little  star-lamp  is  but  one 

Of  millions  in  the  sky, 
Because  each  child,  when  day  is  done, 

Needs  one  as  much  as  I; 
So  all  the  boys  and  girls  there  are 
Can  each  one  have  his  lighted  star. 

Anna  Burnham  Bryant. 


129 


WINGED  THINGS 

FATHER  loves  to  watch  the  bees, 
And  mother  cares  for  butterflies, 
And  brother  hkes  to  see  the  ants 
That  are  so  good  and  wise. 
But  can  you  guess  what  I  Hke  best, 
With  spotted  coat  and  yellow  vest? 

They  are  so  little,  and  so  dear. 

They  come  and  sit  upon  my  hand, 
And  I  say  —  and  they  always  hear. 

And  fly  away  to  their  own  land  — 
^'Lady  Bug,  Lady  Bug,  fly  away  home. 
Your  house  is  on  fl,re,  and  your  children  will 
burn!'* 

Anna  Schutze. 


130 


I 


MY  GARDEN 

HAVE  a  little  garden 

All  edged  with  four-o'clocks; 
And  some  of  it  is  sunflowers, 
And  some  is  hollyhocks. 


And  all  around  the  border 

I've  planted  little  stones  — 
A  lot  of  round  beach  pebbles  — 

To  keep  out  Rover's  bones. 

And  then,  as  plain  as  daylight, 
A  sign,  "Keep  off  the  grass," 

Warns  hens  and  everybody 
That  here  they  shouldn't  pass. 

But  Rover  makes  his  pantry 

Right  in  that  garden  patch; 
And  all  the  hens  and  chickens 

Think  that's  the  place  to  scratch. 

Anna  Burnham  Bryant. 


181 


s 


THE  CALENDAR  OF  A 
COUNTRY  CHILD 

UCH  splendid  things  I  think  and  do, 
The  whole  year  round,  the  long  year 
through ! 


In  January  are  skates  and  sled 
And  blazing  fires  with  birch  logs  fed. 
In  February  are  swift  sleigh-rides, 
And  corn  to  pop  and  nuts  besides. 
With  March's  lovely,  slushy  snow 
I  build  my  dikes  and  dams,  you  know; 
And  April  weather,  chill  and  cold. 
Gives  me  gray  catkins  soft  to  hold. 
Blue  May  is  kind  to  little  girls. 
And  shakes  me  dandelion  curls; 
And  dear  June  twines  white  daisy-chains, 
While  robins  chirp  in  soft,  warm  rains. 
In  green  July  I  rest  so  still, 
Where  clover  carpets  all  the  hill; 
And  where  the  clear  brook  slips  away 
In  August  days  I  wade  and  play; 
And  when  September's  harvests  come 

132 


CALENDAR     OF     A     COUNTRY     CHILD         133 

I  ride  on  creaking  wagons  home. 
October  throws  me  fruit  to  hold 
Like  bits  of  sunset,  red  and  gold. 
I  shake  and  shake  the  chestnuts  down. 
When  all  November's  woods  are  brown. 
And  last,  December's  snows  drift  white 
To  make  me  happy  Christmas  night. 

The  whole  year  round,  the  long  year  through, 
Such  splendid  things  I  think  and  do! 

Alice  Van  Leer  Carrick. 


FOR  THE  QUEEN 

KLIP-KLOP,  klip-klop,"  went  a  pair  of 
funny  wooden  shoes  over  the  clean 
stones  of  a  neat  Dutch  kitchen 
floor,  and  every  time  the  funny  wooden  shoes 
said  "khp-klop"  they  carried  a  sweet  Httle 
Dutch  maiden  two  steps  further  in  her  jour- 
ney back  and  forth  from  the  table  by  the 
window  to  the  shelf  at  the  other  side  of  the 
room. 

The  little  Dutch  maiden's  name  was  An- 
netje,  and  she  was  busy  washing  and  drying 
the  dishes,  and  scouring  the  metal  ones  till 
they  shone  like  moons. 

Any  one  watching  Annetje  would  have 
thought  she  was  having  the  best  time  a  little 
girl  could  have;  but  really  it  was  hard  work 
and  Annetje  did  not  like  it  a  bit.  She  wanted 
instead  to  be  out  of  doors  in  the  beautiful 
sunshine,  where  she  could  run  and  play  with 
her  cousin  Gretchen  and  with  a  young  boy 
named  Jan.  It  was  not  any  fun  to  stay  inside 
and  to  wash  and  scour  many  dishes  —  no, 
indeed. 

134 


FOR     THE     QUEEN  135 

At  first  she  stopped  many  times  when 
she  passed  the  window,  to  look  out  over 
the  tuHp  fields  where  hundreds  of  gay  blos- 
soms of  many  colors  danced  in  the  breeze. 
She  could  see  some  of  her  playmates  already 
running  along  the  edge  of  the  canal  where  the 
big  windmill  was  whirling  its  queer  arms  mer- 
rily around  in  the  air.  How  she  wanted  to 
be  with  the  others! 

"The  work  will  not  be  done  if  one  looks 
idly  out  of  the  window,"  said  the  wise  mother, 
in  words  you  and  I  would  not  understand. 

"It  takes  so  long  to  make  bright  the 
plates,"  replied  Annetje,  in  the  same  kind  of 
words. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  the  wise  mother,  "but 
what  if  the  queen  herself  should  come  to  the 
home  this  very  day  and  find  the  plates  badly 
scoured?     What  then  should  we  say?" 

That  was  something  of  which  Annetje  had 
not  thought.  Yes;  supposing  their  beautiful 
queen  should  happen  to  pay  them  a  visit! 
It  never  would  do  not  to  have  the  dishes 
shine. 

So  Annetje  went  quickly  about  her  work, 
rubbing  and  scouring  until  all  of  the  dishes 
were   dry   and   clean,   and   all   of   the   metal 


186  IN     PLAY     LAND 

plates  shone  so  that  if  the  queen  had  peeped 
into  them  she  could  have  seen  her  fair  face 
easily. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  funny  wooden 
shoes  went  klip-klop  very  fast  out  into  the 
sunshine,  and  little  Annetje  was  happy,  for 
had  she  not  left  behind  her  a  row  of  shining 
dishes  polished  as  though  for  the  queen? 
The  gay  tulips  nodded,  and  the  great  wind- 
mill flapped  its  queer  sails,  and  Annetje  ran 
to  play  with  her  cousin  Gretchen  and  with 
the  young  boy  named  Jan. 

Blanche  Elizabeth  Wade. 


THE  MONTH  OF  IVIAY 

IT  comes  just  after  April, 
And  right  before  'tis  June; 
And  every  bird  that's  singing 
Has  this  same  lovely  tune: 
*'You  needn't  ask  your  mother 

To  let  you  go  and  play! 
The  very  breezes  whisper, 
'You  may!    You  may!    You  may!' 

"  There  are  no  frosts  to  freeze  you, 
And  no  fierce  winds  to  blow. 
But  winds  that  seem  like  kisses, 

So  soft  and  sweet  and  slow. 
The  lovely  sun  is  shining 
'Most  every  single  day. 
Of  course  you  may  go  out,  dears  — 
It  is  the  month  of  'May'!" 

Anna  Burnham  Bryant. 


187 


CLOVER 

E  clover  is  the  kindest  plant; 

It  grows  up  in  the  grass 
Or  on  the  dusty  roadside  brown. 
And  greets  you  as  you  pass. 


T, 


It  lets  the  farmer  mow  it  down 

To  make  the  hay  complete; 
It  lets  the  bees  fly  close  about 

And  take  its  honey  sweet. 

It  lets  us  children,  passing  by, 
Its  leaves  and  flowers  pluck; 

And  now  and  then  it  lets  us  find 
A  four-leaf,  just  for  luck! 

Annie  Willis  McCullough. 


188 


MAMMA'S  LITTLE  HOUSEMAID 

I  AM  mamma's  little  housemaid,  don't  you 
see? 
They  couldn't  get  along  so  well  if  it  were 
not  for  me; 
For  every  Friday  morning  I  take  my  little 

broom, 
And  sweep  and  sweep  the  pretty  rugs  that  lie 

in  mamma's  room. 
And  then  I  sweep  the  door-steps  off,  and  do 

not  leave  a  crumb, 
And  wipe  the  dishes,  too,  and  oh,  it  is  the 

bestest  fun! 
And  then,  when  mamma  starts  to  bake,  she 

says  that  maybe  I 
Can  make  all  by  my  very  self  a  cunning  little 

pie. 
When  I  am  big  enough  for  school  I  think  I'll 

like  to  go. 
But  truly  I  would  rather  stay  at  home,  you 

know. 
And  help  my  mamma  do  the  work,  and  bake 

a  little  pie, 

139 


140  IN     PLAY     LAND 

For  mamma  says  all  little  girls,  if  they  would 

only  try, 
Can   help    their   mammas   very   much   with 

willing  hands  and  feet, 
By  sweeping  rugs  and  door-steps  and  keeping 

porches  neat. 
So  I  am  mamma's  housemaid,  and  she  pays 

me  with  a  kiss. 
And  papa,   when  he  comes  at  night,   says, 

"Bless  me,  what  is  this! 
How  bright  and  clean  the  rugs   do  look!" 

And  then  I  laugh  and  say 
That  my  little  broom  and  I  work  for  mamma 

every  day. 

Hakriet  Crocker  LeRoy. 


THE  BEST  MEDICINE 

PAULINE  had  white  cheeks.     They  had 
been  red,  but  long  ago  in  summer.     It 
was  winter  now.     PauHne  thought  her 
cheeks  were  always  appropriate  to  the  season 

—  red,  for  summer  roses,  and  white,  for  win- 
ter snows. 

Pauline's  mother  thought  white  cheeks 
meant  poor  health,  and  mentioned  the  doctor, 
but  Pauline's  grandfather  said,  "Nonsense! 
No  doctor  needed!  I  prescribe  the  North 
Wind." 

Pauline  laughed  at  that.  *'0  grandpa!" 
she  cried,  "I  can't  take  the  North  Wind  in 
a  spoon!" 

Grandpa  smiled  as  he  answered,  "The  best 
medicine  is  not  given  by  the  spoonful.  Put 
on  your  coat,  hat,  mittens,  leggings,  rubbers, 
furs,  and  anything  else  you  happen  to  have 

—  and  take  a  good  big  dose  of  North  Wind." 
Now  Pauline  was  very  fond  of  staying  in 

the  house  and  reading,  curled  up  in  a  warm 
corner,  but  there  was  something  about  grand- 

141 


142  IN     PLAY     LAND 

pa's  voice  that  made  her  put  on  her  things 
and  go  outdoors.  No  sooner  had  she  turned 
the  corner  of  the  house  than  there  was  a 
struggle. 

*'Ho!  ho!"  cried  North  Wind,  bouncing 
round  the  corner  and  slapping  her  in  the  face. 

"Oh!  oh!"  cried  Pauline.  "Stop!  You 
play  too  hard!" 

But  North  Wind  would  not  stop.  He 
pushed  Pauline,  and  whirled  her  clothes;  he 
pinched  her  ears  and  filliped  her  nose;  he 
blew  off  her  hat,  and  then  tweaked  her  toes. 

"Ho!  ho!"  he  cried.  "If  it  takes  a  week 
I'll  slap  your  cheek  till  it's  red  as  a  rose!" 

It  was  very  rude  of  North  Wind,  and  Pau- 
line wanted  very  much  to  tell  him  so,  but  she 
had  to  chase  her  hat,  and  hold  on  to  her 
clothes,  and  cover  her  ears,  and  rub  her  nose, 
and  dance  all  the  time  to  warm  her  toes,  so 
she  had  no  time  a  speech  to  compose,  while 
he  slapped  her  face  and  uttered,  "Ho!  ho's!" 
till  each  of  her  cheeks  was  as  red  as  a  rose! 

"I  see,"  said  grandpa,  when  Pauline  went 
into  the  house,  "you  took  the  North  Wind." 

"No,"  said  Pauline  quickly,  "the  North 
Wind  took  me!" 

Joshua  F.  Crowell. 


IN   SUMMER 

WHEN  all  the  roads  are  white  with  dust, 
And  thirsty  flowers  complain, 
Our  little  lassie  cries,  "I  must 
Go  carry  round  the  rain." 

As  up  and  down  the  garden  plots 

With  busy  feet  she  treads, 
The  pansies  and  forget-me-nots 

Lift  up  their  drooping  heads. 

She  waters  all  the  lilies  tall, 

The  fragrant  mignonette. 
And  hollyhocks  beside  the  wall  — 

Not  one  does  she  forget. 

What  wonder  that  her  garden  grows 
And  blooms,  and  blooms  again, 

When  every  grateful  blossom  knows 
Who  "carries  round  the  rain!" 

Hannah  G.  Fernald. 


143 


AT  NIGHT 

THE  wind  makes  music  all  night  long, 
To  lull  a  child  to  sleep — 
Sometimes  it  sounds  like  mother's  song, 
Sometimes  an  organ  deep  — 
And  overhead  the  stars  stand  still, 

Like  shining,  watchful  eyes. 
How  good  God  is,  to  always  fill 
The  night  with  sweet  surprise! 

Annie  Willis  McCullough. 


144 


SUN  SHADOWS 

WHEN  I  sit  on  the  orchard  lawn, 
The  sunlight  drifts  and  passes. 
It  looks  and  laughs  and  then  it's 
gone; 
It  brightens  all  the  grasses. 

It  paints  a  pattern  on  my  frock 
Of  leaves  all  green  and  blowing. 

As  if  the  trees  against  my  gown 
Were  growing,  growing,  growing. 

Alice  Van  Leer  Carrick. 


145 


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